Matt, Randi, Kenley, and 1 in the oven

Another top ten

2012-01-26T10:26:00.000-05:00

So, last Saturday suddenly, unexpectedly, but easily climbed its way up the charts to a seat on my Top Ten Best Days of My Life list.

I keep having days like this. In just the past couple of years, I've had to say goodbye to some previous place holders in the category. Days like my 16th birthday and getting my driver's license. Days like an epic Womble mountain bike trip in Arkansas. Days like getting my braces off. Whew, those were some good ones. But nothing compares to this - this indescribable pride of being a Dad - having an amazing wife that loves me and absolutely enjoys staying at home and raising my daughter - and the joy of the reality that I'm going to have an even bigger family, one big enough to justify a mini-van to accommodate our family outings.

I'm blessed, and yeah...I'm happy.

Just some random photos

2012-01-25T20:26:00.000-05:00

Ankle deep might be knee deep for some of us

2012-01-23T13:41:00.000-05:00

This isn't Kenley's first snowfall, but it is her first opportunity to romp around in it.

ROTW: Barack Obama, Democrats, and Liberals

2012-01-20T23:36:00.000-05:00

As advertised in yesterday's animation, I frequently rant about morons, idiots, and Burger King. Somewhere within one of these categories fall those listed in this post's title. OK, perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh. No doubt, some of you are democrats. Even my good friend Beau proclaims he is a democrat. In reality, he's merely uninformed, misinformed, or is not fond of using his brain when it comes to politics. (Love you, Beau!)

So what's gotten me all fired up tonight to spur the Rant of the Week? This news article in Businessweek about the oil boom happening right here in our own country. And our own President's reluctance to give a flip about it. It's a relatively long article. I found it extremely interesting - perhaps particularly because I've been working in the Bakken this week, but if you don't feel like reading the entire thing I'll summarize it for you: Harold Hamm, a stubborn old oil tycoon from Oklahoma, has continued decade after decade to invest his time, efforts, and fortune into finding oil right here in our own homeland. He's struck it bigtime here in North Dakota...to the tune of potentially 24 billion barrels of oil in this area alone. By comparison, there's only 70 billion barrels in Saudi Arabia. And so the President of the United States must be ecstatic to hear this, right? Right?! Well, let's see what the article says:

"Hamm is convinced that the Bakken...can help North America take a big step toward energy independence. He gets downright angry talking about federal legislation that he says threatens tax benefits for oil exploration." [Actually let's stop here for a second and see if I got this straight...You mean to tell me that our own government is passing legislation to DECREASE incentives for oil exploration within our own borders? Did I get that right?! Are you kidding me?! OK, let's continue...]

"[Hamm] scowls, recalling a chat he had with President Barack Obama in July at a White House event for Hamm and others who've pledged most of their wealth to charity. [Those evil rich people!!] Hamm says he told Obama there's plenty of oil to be found in the U.S. He felt the President blew him off. 'It was like, if you're in the oil-and-gas industry, you don't matter', he says."

If you are actively involved in working to reduce this country's dependence on foreign oil, President Obama isn't interested. Got that? Good. Please remember that at election time. I will.

Oh, and I'll also keep in mind that the unemployment rate in North Dakota right now is 3.4% - the lowest in the nation. I made a trip to a local Wal-Mart on Tuesday evening, and the swarm of blue-collars gathering groceries and other basic necessities would have made a Black Friday crowd seem sparse. But clearly the President's plan is working - INCREASING unemployment benefits and other social programs. After all, what get's people motivated to get off their rear ends and get back to work like paying them to sit at home and watch TV all day? That makes perfect sense.

As does any statement about degrading our "dependence" on oil. If you ever hear a politician (this will typically be a liberal) talking negatively about oil, you can rest assured - they are an idiot. Most everything we use, own, buy, need, fill in the blank, is some derivative of oil - even EXCLUDING the transportation part of the supply chain! Oil is broken down at refineries into various petrochemicals used in a mind-blowing number of manufacturing processes. Guess where plastic comes from? Guess how farmers grow healthy crops? I could go on, but you can Google this stuff yourself. Let me instead leave you to ponder this poem from 1949:

What is a blog?

2012-01-19T23:05:00.000-05:00

Tebow, un-shun

2012-01-09T21:51:00.000-05:00

Heretofore, I have been uncharacteristically silent on Tim Tebow. If you don't know who Tim Tebow is, you're probably new to this planet, so let me bring you up to speed quickly. We call this "Earth", and our leader is Tim Tebow. That's about all you need to know these days. Oh, and Tim Tebow plays football. He plays quarterback as a matter of fact, but sometimes he can't hit the broad side of a barn. Other times, he's fantastic. But mostly, he stinks at throwing the football, yet he has gotten most of the credit for leading his team from a losing record earlier this season to winning their division, and just last night he pulled off more "Tebow magic" by throwing an 80 yard touchdown pass in the first play of overtime to win a playoff game. Oh, and he's a very outspoken Jesus freak.

So, as you might imagine, you either love him or hate him. You want to be him, or you want to beat him. He's confident, or he's arrogant. He's talented, or he's the worst football player ever allowed in the NFL. All he knows how to do is win, or he gets all the credit when his team plays well. Whatever your position, the line has been drawn. There is no in between, on the fence, open to further discussion, or anything of the like. If you don't have an opinion, get one and get on the bandwagon. Or get off. Or get out of the way, because the Tebow train will run you over.

Before I bless you with a long list of Tebow-isms, I need your help with a dilemma I have. You see, Tebow is a Christian. He's gives himself no credit at all. He gives our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ most of the credit, and he gives his teammates the rest of the credit. Yet, I attend a church pastored by a Steeler fan. And I'm pretty sure he's no Tebow fan. Rather, Tebow's first playoff victory was against said Steelers, sending them back home to Pittsburgh with an end to their season earlier than they'd anticipated. Now while I'm pretty sure that Jesus loves football and is a huge Tebow fan (there's absolutely no other reasonable explanation for his success), I'm also fairly confident that he's a fan of my Pastor. And there lies my dilemma. No doubt, my Pastor was praying for sweet victory last evening. Meanwhile, in some quiet corner of a locker room - errr, striking a picturesque pose in the middle of the football field, Tebow was saying a prayer of complete opposite request. (If you're not familiar with this pose, it's called "Tebowing", and it is well depicted on Chris Massey's t-shirt below:)

Is it an issue of faith? Who wins in this battle of prayers when two people pray conversely? Jon Acuff has coined this scenario as the prayer "shot block", whereby one prayer is swatted down by the other as it was floating up to heaven. One would suppose that God would just remain neutral on the subject, and let the game end in a tie. But alas, it did not. Granted, I do know a lot more Broncos fans than I do Steelers fans, so perhaps God is merely democratic when it comes to sports prayers.

Whatever the reason for Tebow's success, it's clear that the NFL is not challenging enough; thats why Tim Tebow waits until the end of the 4th quarter to start playing.
SuperMan wears Tim Tebow pajamas.

Tim Tebow was once told his urine tested positive for steriods. Tim Tebow responded with a laugh and said, "Where do you think steroids come from?"

Tim Tebow counted to infinity. Twice.

Tim Tebow is so fast, he can run around the world and punch himself in the back of the head.

When Tim Tebow wants popcorn, he breathes on Nebraska.

Tim Tebow can talk about fight club.

Geico saved money on its car insurance by switching to Tim Tebow.

Ghosts sit around the campfire and tell Tim Tebow stories.

Tim Tebow doesn't feel pain; pain feels Tim Tebow.

The Loch Ness monster swears it saw Tim Tebow.

Tim Tebow is what Willis was talking about.

Death once had a near-Tebow experience.

The Mayan calendar had Tim Tebow's birth date carved in stone.

9-1-1 has Tim Tebow listed as their emergency contact.

By the time it takes you to read this, Tim Tebow has already read the Bible. Twice.

Twelve Days of Christmas

2012-01-05T07:06:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! To kick it off, enjoy this documentary of our time in Oklahoma. It predominantly features my favorite rendition of the classical holiday song, but please pardon the poor audio quality of the second song; apparently the Mumford & Sons' banjo-ness was too much for YouTube to handle. (This was shot and compiled 100% on my iPhone, for those of you who still think your Droid phones are cool.)

Just in case you've never been offended by Santa Claus before...

2011-12-19T20:58:00.000-05:00

Just in case you're not one of those nutcases that believes being pro-Santa means being anti-Christian...

Just in case you don't see Santa as Buddha in a cute, furry disguise...

Just in case you're convinced that Saint Nick is probably one of Jesus' tweeps...

Just in case you think the names Santa and Satan are as merely coincidental as Obama and Osama...

perhaps this will finally awaken you to your senses:

We were but innocent passers by, and we got mooned by Santa Claus in our own neighborhood. At least there was a very friendly message; nothing says Merry Christmas like "Happy Holidays" tatooed on Claus' bare derriere.

Well, we are about to embark on our 12 days of Christmas, starting Wednesday. Can't wait to see our fam in OK!

Angel

2011-12-11T18:54:00.000-05:00

It's just not Christmas without a children's program at church. And for the first time in my life, I finally understood the crazy, annoying parents who crowd the aisles and fight their way to the very front of the church just to snap some photos of their kid. This time, in fact, I was them. I literally jumped over a pew just to get a better angle at my angel. And here's what I have to show for it:

Admittedly, Kenley's first stage performance was less than spectacular, but I blame the nice young lady that was holding her for holding her back. I'm pretty sure that - had she let Kenley down for but a few seconds - we'd have seen dancing, and twirling, and a phenomenal soprano solo from my girl. It matters none, though. The moment she hit the stage my heart started racing with excitement, and I couldn't have been more proud and filled with joy than I was watching her this morning.

Afterwards, we attempted to get some photos of Kenley's great costume. I figured I'd just post some video of these attempts instead:

Call me what you like

2011-12-10T17:53:00.000-05:00

Call me paranoid, but Kenley's love of cell phones at the mere age of 17.5 months is a bit worrisome to me of teenage years to come. Here's her reaction to her newest cell phone, courtesy of my company Christmas party:

Call me prejudiced, but I hate the dentist. Actually, I admit that I'm a rabid anti-dentite. Kenley, on the other hand, seems like she has no loathing for this profession at all after her first visit:

Her fascination with sticking her fingers in everyone's mouth gives me even greater worries - like paying for her tuition to dental school.

Call me biased, but I think this is the cutest little girl on the planet:

Note her fancy new house shoes. Here's some video of her fancy walking on slick floors wearing her no-grip soles. If only I'd had the camera ready on her first try (I'd probaby be locked up for evidence of child-endangerment):

Two

2011-12-02T12:27:00.000-05:00

Today is December 2nd.

I have only 2 full work weeks left before we head to Oklahoma for Christmas.

I have been sick for the past 2 days. I have been sick at least the past 2 times I've gone home to Oklahoma. I only see some of Randi's family at this time of the year, so I'm convinced they must think she married some dude that is loaded with a good life insurance policy and on his death bed. "What, he's back again this Christmas? We didn't think he would make it through the year," I can almost hear them say.

Kenley has 2 new baby boy cousins to meet and play with this Christmas.

The Sooners have 2 losses, as do the Pokes.

Despite that it is contrary to ensuring readership per well-proven blog strategy, I only had 2 blog posts in November. I will commit to at least 2 posts in December; deal with it.

I think I will probably only have 2 readers left after this post.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T17:07:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving isn't ultimately about being thankful for "things". However, I am truly thankful for iPhones, which allow us to FaceTime and talk to family from thousands of miles away, and to share moments like this through video.

From our little family in Pennsylvania to our family and friends elsewhere, Happy Thanksgiving!

ROTW: Why boys should pay attention in Geometry class

2011-11-07T21:29:00.000-05:00

Today's Rant of the Week is brought to you courtesy of the idiots who design men's restrooms.

I'm no engineer, but does one need to be in order to figure out the angle of reflection in a bathroom mirror between the doorway and the urinal? Perhaps I just answered my own question. Perhaps engineers, as smart as they are, just lack common sense. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, so I suppose an engineer smart enough to draft a complex set of blueprints to construct a building may concurrently be completely inept to basic geometry. Perhaps had these engineers been privy to playing Pong as a child, I wouldn't continue see this buffoonery everywhere I go, especially at every single one of my beloved Buffalo Wild Wings establishments. I snapped this photo today from the urinal at a BWW:

[Note that I forewent the converse angle, as I have already been reprimanded by a Massey for my recent photo-tweet involving a waterless urinal.]

Urinating is a game of angles. Restroom layout is no exception. Hey, I'm as big a fan as any of outward swinging bathroom doors; these are a germaphobe's dream. But as soon I walk into the men's room, I shouldn't be instantaneously exposed to the rear ends of my counterparts relieving themselves in the upright position. Moreover, neither should the ladies be subjected to this, as they pass by (yes, most of the time the men's room is "one the way" toward the ladies' room) while the doorway happens to swing open. And while I'm at it, is it too much to ask for a "splash guard"? While I prefer to refer to it (and think of it, for that matter...) as a partition, I honestly do appreciate the minimal privacy that a 12" x 18" slab of rusted sheet metal gives me from the awkardly nonchalant conversational guy to my right and the old guy whistling on my left.

Though we've slightly progressed from the trough age, you would think by the year 2012 we could come up with a better idea than a shared wall of undivided porcelain bowls. Here's an idea:

Mini-blinds! This way, if you want privacy, you've got it. You don't want privacy? Well, just open 'em up and let the sun shine in.

I never even thought of this idea until tonight, when I walked into my 9th floor hotel room in Quebec (click here if you don't understand the significance of the 9th floor in Canada), and discovered this nifty idea. Mini-blinds segregating the bedroom and the bathroom. Awesome! (Even though I'm traveling alone this trip, it kind of feels dirty to open them up, you know what I mean?)

Anyways, one last picture:

I'm not exactly sure why there is a security seal on my toilet. It could either be a "don't contaminate the evidence" sort of a-murder-just-happened-here warning (discomforting), or it could be a "sealed for freshness" sort of a this-toilet-sanitized-especially-for-you-with-you-in-mind label (comforting). Either way, I'm not sure I want to break it. Still pondering that one...

Road Test: 2011 Cadillac Escalade - the Anti-Smart Car

2011-10-28T17:04:00.000-04:00

Upon conveying my business needs for a “larger” vehicle this week at the rental car counter, it was the apparent equivalent of saying “I don’t just need a squirt gun; I’m gonna need a SuperSoaker 5000.” What they issued me instead was the equivalent of a bazooka.

If you missed my road test on the Smart Car Fortwo earlier this year, click here. The Cadillac Escalade is the Anti-Smart Car, replacing simplicity with complexity; miniscuity with gargantuanity; efficiency with gas-guzzling.

When Nissan introduced their Xterra to the SUV market back in 2000, I recall their marketing slogan, “Everything you need. Nothing you don’t.” And so, they had me. I loved its simplicity and functionality. It was priced well. And it was rugged. Before too long, however – probably before I put 10K miles on it, I began to wonder if my Xterra was actually equipped with nothing I needed, but with everything I didn’t.

For example, I now owned an SUV without 4-wheel drive. Why even manufacture one without it? And it wasn’t too long before I longed for the flexibility to open my sunroof. Unfortunately, this was impossible without taking several minutes to perform the tedious task of removing the plastic eyebolts which secured the gear basket thingy positioned on the roof – directly over the sunroof. And on a long road trip, its seats would make you long for the comfort of economy class on a JetBlue flight.

That’s why, after one week of enjoying my rental car upgrade to an Escalade, I feel the slogan more aptly belongs to Cadillac. It truly has everything I need: heated seats; heated steering wheel; heated mirrors. Leather seats. Bose stereo and a TV. Built-in GPS. Signals and traffic sensors on the side mirrors. All the essentials. Well, unless you consider room for luggage as essential. Actually, it has plenty of room for your baggage, provided that all your necessities will fit into a briefcase.

Considering this vehicle is rather outdated (it was a 2011 – so “last year”!), it’s no surprise that they didn’t make any cubby holes in the console – no room for any place to stow your cell phone or wallet while driving. Perhaps the 2012 model will be just a tad larger to allow sufficient room for such luxuries as this as well as more than two cupholders.

What the Escalade lacks in practicality it makes up for in fashion faux pas. Unless, of course, you’re into retro-techno mesh and would find the old-fashioned 1973ish analog clock positioned directly above the state of the art touch-screen navigation system rather “Bieber”. My wife would have gotten downright perturbed at Cadillac's poor fashion sense in clashing its black paint with an interior of brown and tan!

I’m willing to overlook all of these shortcomings, though. After all, I’m clearly their target market. I think. Let’s review the checklist:

Gear shift lever on steering wheel. Check. – If I’m a grandma. (I haven’t seen you up there since 1980!)
6" TV screen in the back seat. Check. – If I’m a mama, and I’ve forgone a traditional minivan for this ride. And who needs a TV screen larger than an average smart phone for a long road trip?
22" shiny wheels. Check. – If I’m gangsta. These rims will keep it real in ‘da hood.

OK, so perhaps I’m not their target market. One of these days, however, when I have a worn out Buick to trade in, I will shop you, Cadillac. After all, I don't think a person could have survived this crash in a Smart Car:

(By the grace of God, my friend John Pawloski actually survived this crash in his comparably ridiculous Lincoln Navigator.)

Knowing your audience

2011-10-25T23:38:00.000-04:00

As a marketing student in college, a key principle they drilled into my head was to "know your audience". It baffles and amuses me when I watch football or the UFC and I catch a commercial for a feminine hygiene product or a laundry detergent. One could argue, however, that I'm quite often missing my audience on this blog. And they'd probably be right, at least half the time. I'm continually amazed but flattered when I discover readers of my blog from time to time. Per my conversations with you, about half of my readers say they just read it to follow Kenley, and the other half seem to read it for the entertainment value. Half of you don't bother reading my laboriously long posts, and long for nothing more than some pictures or video.

I tend to be "all over the place" with this blog. One minute I'm going off on a rant, the next minute I'm getting all sentimental, and perhaps most often I'm just outright ridiculous. And, I'm not sure whether or not I want to exactly apologize for that. I've oft considered breaking my posts out to two separate blog sites - one for the family stuff, and one for the other stuff. But then I think, that's not me. I'm not two separate people. I'm truly all over the place. I'm a family guy, but I love to have fun, and be sarcastic, and be ridiculous as I can be just to get a couple of laughs.

So bear with me as I continue to make this walk through life and this journey they call Christianity, and as I post on this ridiculous blog. Don't forget to keep an eye on my church's Young Adults blog; I post there from time to time, and I'll try to keep those brief and meaningful. I recently posted some additional thoughts on social media audiences.

...a few giant leaps for mankind.

2011-10-16T17:03:00.000-04:00

Statistically, most babies walk by the age of 15 months. With a day to spare, Kenley is no exception! Kenley will be 16 months old tomorrow, and she decided to start bustin' her moves out of nowhere this afternoon:

Pumpkin Patch

2011-10-15T20:57:00.000-04:00

After having lunch with some long time family friends - the West's - who were passing through the northeast this weekend, the girls and I stopped by a pumpkin patch on the way home from Delaware this afternoon to take some pictures:

A Grandma, a swimming pool, and a bag of sand

2011-10-13T22:49:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I was baptized in water at my church.

Though I've been a Christian all my life, I'd never been baptized before. When my church recently announced an upcoming baptismal service, I signed up to attend a Bible study on the subject which prefaced the service. I knew I'd be asked to give my testimony to the church prior to the dunking. In order to further fulfill my public declaration of my faith, I want to share with you my story that I shared that Sunday morning with my church:

I've been a Christian all my life - ever since I can remember. In fact, I don't even remember getting saved, and that's always sort of bothered me. I had a pretty easy time growing up. I wasn't a particularly popular or "cool" kid in school, which probably helped to keep me from falling trap to some peer pressure. Academics came pretty easy for me. I had a very stable home life, with a nuclear and extended family that were all Christians. I managed to stay out of any significant trouble, and I pretty much never "needed" God. Life was good. Until...

A few years ago, I suddenly lost everything. All in one unforeseen moment, I essentially lost every worldly possession I'd acquired; I lost some family; I lost hope, and I lost all understanding. In one fell swoop, my proverbial rug was pulled out from beneath me as my life crashed around me.

If it sounds like I'm being a bit vague, I am, because the details of my particular circumstance are irrelevant. It was merely a moment that marked the very essence of what it is to be human - one of those categorical moments, events, scenarios, or situations that every person on this earth will inevitably face at some point in their lifetime. One of those moments when there's every reason in the world - according to mankind's understanding - to give up, to give in, to turn away, to turn back, to get mad, to get even. As good excuse as any to turn my back on God, to blame God, or to flat out deny God.

Somehow, through all of this, during all of this, I turned to God. I cried out for God. And I heard God as He spoke "I still have plans for you." The next few days, weeks, and months were tough. There continued to be nights of prayer crying out "why?!", and others simply asking for restoration...somehow, some day, some way.

Fast forward to today, and God has answered those prayers. Strike that. He's surpassed those prayers. I haven't just been restored; I've been blessed beyond those prayers. God flat out answers prayers. He hears our cries. He knows our hearts, and He cares about what we care about. Period. There was that one thing that had still been bothering me over the past couple of years though...

Over the course of the past three Christmas seasons, I've lost both of my grandfathers. I was very close with both of them. I nearly lost one of my grandmothers this past Christmas, too. But, thank God, she's still alive and kickin'. If for nothing else, I'm confident that God tarried her departure from this life for this moment: We visited Oklahoma in June; as we were saying our goodbyes to family before heading to the airport to catch our plane back to PA, my Grandma began to speak to me. More like, speak over me - blessings, and prophetic things. And, she shared with me a story - a story about little Matthew. "I'll never forget the day you accepted Jesus into your heart, Matthew", she said. (What?! She remembers this?!!! I was speechless as I shook my head.) She continued, "Why yes! One day while you were at my house you came to me and said that you wanted Jesus to come into your heart. So we prayed right there, and He did." Jesus answers prayers. He cares about our deepest concerns and desires. Using my Grandma, He gave me the memory of that moment. And I'm proud to say that Jesus is my Saviour, my Redeemer, my King, forever!

(P.S. The baptismal pool had a slight air leak, and had to be propped upright on one side by a bag of sand. Strange, what amazing things God can do with less-than-amazing things.)

Strip Malls

2011-10-11T22:30:00.000-04:00

I so did not make my blog post quota for September. I simply have not had the time to write for a while, so I'm sure you can imagine I have a lot on my mind to write about. To get back in the swing of things, I want to discuss something that's been weighing on my mind for like the past 30 minutes. Strip malls. Why do these things exist? Why is there a computer store next door to a baseball card shop, alongside a used book store adjacent to the donut shop? How come there's always a parking lot full of cars, yet all the businesses are empty? Is the employee parking out front? I wonder.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love strip malls. I'm actually one of the few people who on occasion actually find myself walking door to door doing business transactions with each one of them. Like this little gem of a strip mall I found in Louisville, KY, tonight:

This is a rare find indeed. I was hungry. For Mexican food. Moe's - check! I was in desperate need of a haircut. Supercuts - check! Then I found myself craving a Chocolate Devotion. Coldstone Creamery - check! Had I a bit more discretionary income and spare time on my hands for gaming, I'd so have stopped into GameStop and bought myself a copy of COD:MW3.

Tonight, by some slim chance, this hungry, shaggy headed chocoholic Pennsylvanian with a PS3 fetish happened to be wandering around the area hoping to find just one of these places, anticipating the need to reference my Google Maps app to find the next stop on my agenda, only to stumble upon this gift from above. But I wonder, how often does this happen? Do think there is some strip mall master planner that has my exact situation in mind when selecting stores to lease his property to? Clearly, the answer is yes. Which leaves me with one more question. Why wasn't there a bike shop?

Catch-up

2011-10-02T18:02:00.000-04:00

Is it really October already? Well, it's Sunday afternoon, I'm furious, and my blood pressure is skyrocketing. Yes, I guess it is October -- My Cowboys already have 2 losses, thanks almost single-handedly to Tony Romo's poor decision making abilities at critical moments. But enough of that.

Let's quickly recap September, since I failed to blog much last month. Though I spent approximately 75% of the month in a hotel room, thankfully I was not alone most of that time. We started off the month with a trip to Boston to sight-see with my parents, who were up here visiting us from Oklahoma. Save for the staph infection in Randi's hand and the daily trips to the hospital for treatment, our vacation was fairly awesome.

One of the coolest things we did was tour the (replica) Mayflower at Plymouth Rock. There were a handful of pilgrim-time actors on board the ship to describe that historical ocean crossing better than any textbook ever could. Here's a pic of Kenley riding piggy back while I was studying some apparently very interesting reference materials:

And my folks, on board the dark lower deck where the pilgrims were sequestered:

After a week in Cincinnati, Randi and Kenley joined me on a trip to Evansville, Indiana. Don't ask me where that is; all I know is that we were near Kentucky. So near Kentucky, in fact, that the girls spent all their time with Randi's long time high school friend Brittany, who had moved to Kentucky and attended college in Evansville. One evening last week, we joined Brittany's family for a delicious home cooked dinner, followed by an amusement park ride and concert.

The roller coaster ride came via a Porsche driven by Brittany's dad, who displayed for us just exactly what 400 horsepower and European engineering will do on a less than closed race course. The interchange of highways 41 & 164 provided the perfect playground for him to demonstrate the Porsche's uncanny ability to hold a line in a sharp curve at 70 mph. The car's acceleration from 70 to 125 mph on the short straightaways was equally impressive. Here's me standing next to this stellar machine in the garage, with his 911 parked above it on a lift:

After the ride, we went upstairs to the man cave to listen to some records. Brittany's dad is quite a music connoisseur and is partial to vinyl albums. My questioning of his preference to this old-fashioned technology over digital format was instantly hushed the moment he put the needle down on the first record. The record player looked like it was either built in 1902 or 2020, and the wooden panel "ribbon" speakers were anything but conventional and nothing short of amazing. We spent the evening listening to various artists - from Jeff Beck, to Adele, and many others - few of which I'd ever heard or even heard of before. Kenley very apparently shares my love of the bluegrass banjo:

Happy fall!

Snack

2011-09-16T17:17:00.000-04:00

Mommy went to the store, so Kenley killed some time eating some Cheetos. If you'd like to kill sometime watching her, have at it:

Reader Request: A post about bicycles

2011-09-14T22:53:00.000-04:00

Do you remember this post from a couple of months ago? I got nostalgic about my first car, a 1979 Chevette that was originally some blueish color, faded to a greyish color, then painted to a neonish yellow color. I ended that post with this paragraph:
So that's the story of a boy and his first car. Did I ever tell you about my bicycles? Never mind. Other than stitches, a broken tailbone, a cartwheel, a broken collarbone, and a collision with an automobile, there's not much to talk about.

And my friend Scot Leonard commented: "I want you to write a post about bicycles.... :)"

Well, here you go, Scot! (By the way, no - that's not a typo. Though I refuse to use spell check - what a dehumanizing little invention that is - I am fairly confident that there's only one "t" in "Scot Leonard". Isn't that crazy? Yes, the double T is necessary! No, two consecutive T's is not redundant! Like, have you ever met someone named Mat? It makes me feel like renaming myself "Mattt" just to make up the difference.)

((Hopefully you do not take offense to my mini-rant back there, Scot. If you disappear from the grid, then suddenly I discover the existence of your alter-ego Scott Lennerd, I'll know it got to you. And I'll apologize for sure.))

Scot is my riding buddy up here in PA. Whenever we have opportunity, we put our spandex on and spend a Saturday afternoon together.

Spandex. Now that's something that no man has any business wearing. Unless!...that man is a legit cyclist. Not a biker, as in mountain bike rider; no, no, my friend, you would be caught dead wearing spandex on the trail. But, somehow, the acceptable attire drastically changes when you pedal off the dirt and onto pavement. Now I rode mountain bikes for years, and never touched a road bike during my 20's. Me and my fellow bikers used to love making jokes about "roadies", what with their shaved legs, their colorful jerseys, and their - um - spandex! Fast forward just a few years, and I'm struttin' around in public with my bulging - thighs. I have not shaved my legs yet, however. I have to save something to look forward to in my 40's.

So cycling is a relatively dangerous endeavor I reckon. I'm pretty good at it, yet I've managed to sustain some gnasty injuries in my lifetime of biking. It all started with several stitches to my chin from a violent crash on my tricycle. I think I was all of 2 years old by then. A handful of years later, I lived near a river. Near this river were some stellar motorcycle trails through the woods. And at one area, someone had piled dirt so as to create quite a substantial ramp. I recall one particular go at this jump, one hot summer day around the age of 12, when approximately mid-air my feet came off the pedals. A brief moment and about negative 10 feet later, my bike's wheels hit the ground about the same time my buttocks made contact with the cross bar of the top tube of my BMX bike frame. It was one of those moments when you feel pain so deeply within your core that it almost makes your teeth hurt. I really felt that one, yep. In fact, I was feeling it for a while. It hurt so bad, in fact, that I recall finally recovering just enough to manage to walk my bike home, put my bike in the garage, and get upstairs to my bed where I would lay in agony the remainder of the day thinking about what I had done. No, my Mom and Dad never heard this story either. If they knew I had been doing crazy stunts on my bike, I reckon I probably thought one of them would have spanked me so hard it would have hurt just as bad anyway. No medical treatment on this one; I guess I was fine the next day. But in hindsight, I'm fairly sure that's the very moment my chiropractor at the age of 23 referred to when he showed me an X-ray depicting the source of my back problems at this relatively young adult age - a broken tailbone, calcified enough to estimate that it occurred about 10 to 15 years prior.

No lie, I once was riding my bike in some dirt, didn't see a hole in the ground, did an endo and rolled, but managed to stay on my bike the entire time and pull off an actual cartwheel and keep riding! Oh, how I wish someone had caught that on camera. I'd be so famous, I'd be inclined to change the spelling of my name to Mat in order to be distinctive.

Around the age of 25, in my mountain biking heydey, I suffered a most brutal crash. I had been following my biking buddy Jerry downhill along a section of trail we'd literally ridden hundreds of times, but that day at a speed we'd never dared before. At the bottom of the hill was a dry creek bed, which made for an especially nice ramp when coming up out of the opposite bank. Unfortunately on this particular day, I failed to shave enough speed before reaching the creek; I launched off the near side bank, sailed completely over the creek bed, and landed into the opposite bank. As my bike landed into this ramp, my rear-suspension completely loaded up and then subsequently hurled me upside down high into the air. I initially reunited with the ground shoulder-first approximately 10 feet or so from where I would ultimately come to rest facing the sky. Upon hearing what he thought sounded like "the snap of a tree branch", Jerry looked back, saw me rolled up like a pretzel, and came back to check on me. After commenting on the curious tears of blood from my eye, Jerry proceeded to offer his hand out to help me get up. To my chagrin, I was unable to lift my own arm to take hold of his, remarking "hmmm, that doesn't feel right". At this, Jerry said, "hold on, let me take a look at your shoulder", then momentarily followed with, "hmmm, well, I'm not sure if it's broken, but probably at least dislocated." That was somewhat comforting, as I was fearing the worst - that my arm had completely fallen off; great to know it was still there.

Sean, if you can somehow resurrect that picture of my freshly broken clavicle, I would love to share it with my readers. For now, we'll just have to settle with this present-day photo of my shoulder:

I'll never forget the words from the ER doctor: "Would you like to have surgery on that?"...I found it an odd question. After futher explanation that surgery would be "optional, for cosmetic reasons only", I replied with a resounding "No!" After all, who wouldn't want this awesome battle scar?

Reader Request: The Adult Years

2011-09-13T21:44:00.000-04:00

I've got a long week ahead of me, so I thought this might be a good time to kick off a Reader's Request Week. This week, all topics will be in response to you - my fans. Over the past few months, a few of you have commented and suggested certain things that you want to hear more about. So, let's get started.

This inaugural Reader Request post will be dedicated to my dear friend Beau Buchanan, who currently lies on his couch in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, recovering from hip surgery. Seriously, Beau? What are you, 80? Well, anyways, I hope this post helps cheer you up and recover soon.

Beau commented this on my April 19th pre-Mother's Day post:
Next Blog - The Adult Years

1. Jumping over Campfire
2. Kerosene Bombs
3. Riding Val and Doug's scooters at high rates of speed (downhill) through Utica neighborhoods.
4. Doing over 100mph down the BA in the rain in a very small black sports car.
5. Shooting Danny with paint ball guns at point blank range at John's Bachelor Party.
6. Etc.....
For the record Matt made me do these things. :)
Beau

Well, for the record, no one was holding a gun to Beau's head. If you can believe it, Beau actually has a tendency to egg me on. Though anyone who grew up with me knew I'd do just about anything if "dared", Beau still likes to encourage me to do things he's often simply unwilling to do himself. Like build world-record-sized bonfires, and jump through them. And fill containers with kerosene and throw them into said bonfire. And go insane speeds not suitable in anything less than a fully enclosed vehicle equipped with a roll cage and side-impact air bags. Wait...no, Beau did those with me.
I am indeed what some might call a pyromaniac. The bigger the fire, the better. And I've never seen a campfire I couldn't jump. The secret is to be nimble and be quick.
I can't really recall any other things I've done in my adult years that my Mom would flip out about. There was, however, another beating. I was physically assaulted in the hallway of a hotel after waking a cranky dude by shaking the vending machine to retrieve me dangling cup cakes. I actually came out OK on that one, thanks to my superb MMA skills I acquired from watching the UFC. No more late night snacks in the hotel for me, though.

My vacation, in homophones

2011-09-12T20:34:00.001-04:00

Homophone - A word that shares pronunciation with another word, but which has a completely different meaning.
Homophobe - Almost a homophone for "homophone", but not quite. Certainly a completely different meaning, however. I wonder...what would you call someone who is afraid of a homophobe, or who has an unreasonable fear of homophones? But I digress.

Tweet - Hopefully you've been following them, so I don't have to go into the details of all the wonderful things we did with my parents while they were up from Oklahoma to visit us.
Tweat - How I imagine Kenley would refer to this delightful reward:

Pour - As in rain. Hard. From start to finish.
Poor - Decision by my 'boy Tony Romo in the remaining minutes of the climatic Sunday night football game to bookend the week. I'm not quite yet a complete Romophobe, but he is ripping my heart out.

Staff - Part of an incredible sermon on Psalm 23 that our Pastor preached on Sunday morning - an encouraging word on a day notably scarred with discouragement.
Staph - A potentially life-threatening type of infection which Randi apparently acquired when receiving stitches to suture her relatively minor laceration on her thumb from a broken dish the week prior. Two days into our trip to Boston marked the start of an every-day trip to the hospital to receive treatment for this more serious affliction. Better; almost completely good now.

Mourning - The anniversary of a tragic day in American history.
Morning - This picture taken upon Kenley's reluctant awakening to attend church:

Kenley clearly got Mommy's night-owl genes, not Daddy's morning-person jeans.

Hiatus

2011-09-01T08:24:00.000-04:00

For the next week or so, I'm taking a break from the blog. As the Canadians say, "I'll be on holidays". As the Clones say, "I'll be in the basement".

My folks are flying up this weekend to visit, and we'll be doing some sight-seeing up in Boston while they're here. We are really looking forward to spending some relaxing time with them!

You can stay updated here, as I'll certainly be tweeting from time to time. My recent tweets are over there to the right of this page!

Happy Labor Day!

Twelfth!

2011-08-31T17:15:00.000-04:00

Sure, I'm pushing the deadline, making you sweat, wondering if I'm gonna get it done in time. You've probably been routinely checking your computer on the hour over the past 5 to 9 days. After all, I usually do seem to start off the month slow. Then, over the course of the remaining 2 to 2 and a half weeks, I slam you. And here it is, at the 11th hour, my 12th blog post for August. Never mind that it required two blog posts in the same day to accomplish this - to "meet my quota". If I can't produce something entertaining for you at least 38.7% of the time, what business do I have running this blog anyway? Perhaps I should surrender it over to someone more qualified.

What's the deal with quotas, anyway? (seinfeldism) Who imposes them on us, except ourselves? Why do I somehow feel compelled to maintain my streak of 7 months straight with at least 12 blog posts, if you don't count May? Because. We just do. We make up some ridiculous standard to try and achieve, then punish ourselves if we don't meet it. Quotas - what a ridiculous concept. They are, in fact, one of the several reasons that I'm glad I'm not black (like that segue?). Along with hate crimes, actual discrimination, stupid talking heads far too often crying wolf and barking "racism" as the excuse for far too many things and bringing disgrace to my race, rhythmic dancing, and being competitive at virtually every sport except my favorite one, quotas are yet another reason that I couldn't cut it as a black man.

Seriously, what an insult this idea of quotas! Don't believe it happens? I've seen it and experienced it myself. Without divulging the particular company I used to work for in delivering overnight packages - let's just refer to them as FredRex for sake of discussion - I once learned from our operation's general manager that the recruiting for the new operations manager was going to be restricted to black females. That's right. No men. No whiteys. No Asians, Germans, Norwegians, either I presume. Just those with just the right skin tone and an absence of exterior genitalia in the groin region. After all, isn't that what you're looking for in a boss? It's at the top of my list. Or, perhaps I'm being sarcastic. Perhaps, despite how much I ultimately ended up enjoying working for this black female named Crystal, she had other qualities which made her more suitable to be a manager. Perhaps, there were other candidates just as qualified that happened to be unfortunate enough to be white and male.

[Remember what I said yesterday about my blog never generating backlash? Well, I'm testing my own theory here.] Dare I say that it's more than coincidence that our President was able to get elected despite his glaring lack of experience, and that a part of his name rhymes with one terrorist and he shares another part of it with a different one? Or, that the authenticity of his citizenship is questionable at best, and he happens to have muslim ties and ran for office less than ten years after a muslim terrorist attack on our nation? It's obvious to me that his disqualifications to be President far outweighed his qualifications, but the color of his skin should not be regarded as either. Speaking of terrorists and racial discrimination though, "Barack Obama is the first black man in history to have to prove he killed someone" - Seth Myers, SNL.

You see, I'm just not scared to address this issue myself. Fear is what racism is all about. Fear is a driving force, a motivator that can eclipse all others. For example, the fear of poverty is what drives many folks these days to worry, to work 2 or 3 jobs, to end up esteeming money, wealth, and retirement savings as the most important things in life. In the same manner, those handful of minorities, celebrities, and politicians who continually scream "racism" when they're really just masking their own sense of entitlement, and those corporations who establish nonsensical quotas to appear as if they're "an equal opportunity employer" are really just acting ignorantly out of fear.

And, there's your twelfth post. A bit of a doozy, huh?

What in the world is in those blueberry pancakes?

2011-08-31T09:32:00.000-04:00

I don't know, but something good, I reckon.

Here's Kenley one year ago, on August 31, 2010, before discovering blueberries:

Here's Kenley a year later (today), surviving - er, thriving - on a diet predominantly consisting of blueberries:

Truth! Her blueberry addiction is something like that out of a Forrest Gump movie...blueberries n' pancakes, blueberries n' milk, blueberries n' muffins, blueberries n' peanut butter n' jelly, blueberries n' goldfish...she honestly can't get enough of 'em. And I, somehow, can't get enough of her.

We must be livin' right

2011-08-30T14:56:00.000-04:00

...because we just survived a recent earthquake, hurricane, and even some tornado and flood warnings in our area. We didn't just survive - We thrived! While even within just a couple blocks from our house several huge trees were fallen from the tropical storm, we had so much as a few leaves blown off of the numerous trees in our yard. Although I was traveling at the time of last week's earthquake, Randi was at home and didn't even feel a tremor. Heck, we live within eyesight of a nuclear power plant, yet we managed to conceive a child with all twenty digits, and no more and no less than two eyes.

[Of course, there's only one reasonable explanation to all of this: Randi and I are clearly living a righteous and holy lifestyle. Clearly, our upright living has won us favor from the Almighty, and He is understandably punishing everyone else caught in the path of these recent events. "Natural" disasters? Ha! More like, "supernatural" disasters!] - Well, at least that's what one religious expert would have you believe some of us wacko Christian folk believe, according to his recent post on CNN's Belief Blog. And, I'm sure there are a good handful of us Christians that do buy wholeheartedly into the "natural disasters = God's judgment" theory. Even ultra-conservative Michele Bachmann made a joke about it, and then suffered the inevitable backlash for it. (Ah, if only my blog were popular enough to generate backlash...) (and suddenly, the lyrics to the bridge of Daughtry's hit single Home came rushing into my head...)

All that to say, I just wanted to forewarn you that there's now a link over to the right of my blog to CNN's "Belief Blog". Before you go praying for my soul, rest assured I've still got my head screwed on straight. This blog, however, often has articles I find very interesting. And upsetting. If I ever need to get that blood-rushing-heart-pounding-mad-feeling-just-to-remind-myself-I'm-alive feeling, I like to jog over to that sight for a good read from time to time. Truth be told, all those links to "Blogs I'm Following" over there are more for my convenience than anything. It's easiest just to log in here then check in on my blogs from these links. (You should seriously consider making my blog your homepage, if you haven't done so already.) If you like funny, check out John Acuff. If you like crafty, homemaking stuff, check out My Own Crafty Wonderland. If you like book reviews, check out Meg Massey. If you like no posts at all despite how much I hound her about it, check out my Mom's blog, Mimi's House. And, if you like occasionally insightful and profound but often goofy, anti-Christian religious banter, check out CNN's Belief Blog.

Nursery 2.0

2011-08-26T18:03:00.001-04:00

I figured I'd better get some pics of Kenley's room posted, before Irene comes and blows it away tomorrow. We moved almost 6 months ago, but I never did post any pics of our new place.

Kenley's room, Version 2.0

Referring to it at Version 1.1 just wasn't appropriate, for we're talking significant changes and improvements - a complete overhaul.

Still available in our classic "cheerful hue" paint color and accompanying decor, the much larger Version 2.0 now comes with a chest of drawers, carpet, 4 walls, more than double the closet space, a dedicated area over the changing table for your child's initials, and...

a tunnel!! The new Kenley Nursery 2.0. Simply. Better.

(The tunnel was a belated birthday gift from Rhea ("Aunt Ree Ree"), since she just got home from Africa. And Kenley LOVES it!)

These are crazy times

2011-08-24T22:26:00.000-04:00

Have you ever gone out to eat and seen some lonely, pathetic looking soul sitting at the booth over in the corner eating by himself? Well, that's pretty much me whenever I'm traveling alone on business. Thanks to smart phones, however, I'm the lonely, pathetic looking soul sitting there staring down at his matchbook-sized screen reading the headlines from CNN.com during his entire meal. These days, checking the news while eating spicy buffalo wings is an excellent way to get heartburn. I usually douse it down with a Coke and call it good.

Tonight as I read, I discovered that an owner of one of the famous - er, infamous - cheesesteak outfits in Philly passed away today. Of a HEART ATTACK! Ironic? No, probably just predictable. Irony is more like an actor that played the character of Superman spending his prime in a wheelchair and ultimately dying of paralysis. I have a hunch that the inventor of the parachute might want to steer away from jumping out of an airplane. Just sayin'.

Last night, I learned that the President was up my way playing golf. On a Tuesday.

Meanwhile, in a parallel reality, our country is in the middle of an economic crisis, and could desperately afford for its CEO to show up to the office today for work.

It was nice to read, however, that he cut his golf game short when news broke of an earthquake near his home. My friend Mike Petrucci lives in the Washington, D.C., area, and he tweeted this pic yesterday of the devastation he suffered:

Now that the President's and everyone else's attention is focused on repairs to a few cracks in some national monuments, a little storm is a brewin' down south o' here.

It was refreshing to also read about the handful of "hurricane party" planning already in the works in several locations. I can't think of a better occasion to throw a party, really.

Pic from the race

2011-08-18T16:06:00.000-04:00

Thanks to my iPhone, I was able to save this image from the race's professional photographer's website:

Hey, it's not illegal if it's possible from an iPhone, right?

Sorry, Island Photography. I will at least credit you. Readers: please support Island Photography by visiting http://orders.islandphoto.com/RACE/Proofs.aspx#26521449-00014-0040 and ordering an expensive print package of my race photos. Please disregard my grimacing face depicting both my painful agony as well as my disdain for hard rain pelting me in the face; I'd have made efforts to look a lot more cheerful had I known that I was being photographed at the end of a very long, gruesome, wet ride. Thanks.

Translation please

2011-08-15T23:16:00.000-04:00

I don't speak French. Despite my relatively smooth travels around the primarily French areas of Quebec recently, I may have you fooled. However, I do watch Le Tour de France enough to know that it translates to "The Tour of France" (I'm assuming).

I don't speak Chinese either. I don't even eat Chinese - for fear that my eyes will get squinty, according to Pops. Well, I can't even say that anymore...I actually got suckered by some coworkers today into joining their outing to a local "Chinese" lunch buffet. I use the term "Chinese" loosely for this place, however; they served macaroni n' cheese and pizza at this buffet. No kidding! It was authentically Chinese, though, as I'm nearly certain the sweet 'n crispy chicken was some variation of schnauzer. I was able to ignore the stereotypical fact that it's literally two doors down from a pet store by helping myself to four helpings from the scoop-it-yourself ice cream bar.

I certainly don't speak Italian. I eat Italian for sure. But, no hablo Italiano. I speak more Spanish than I do any other foreign language, but that's not saying much (excuse the pun). I also eat more Spanish, err Mexican food (same thing, right?), than any other foreign cuisine. Case in point, this past Saturday night - the night before my big summer bike race - I forewent the traditional carbo-load of pasta dishes and enjoyed the #10 from the local Mexican food joint.

So, it should be no surprise that I was caught completely off guard by the Gran Fondo race yesterday. All this time, I thought "Gran Fondo" was Italian for big pot of melted cheese for dipping stuff. Before the race, I wanted to make sure I wasn't mistaken, so I checked Google which told me it meant Big Ride. Wrong. Apparently, it is Italian for El Nino. Or, as one of my riding buddies referred to it on Facebook: Sufferfest 2011. But that makes it sound bad. It really wasn't too awfully horrible, save for the lightning storm and torrential downpours throughout the nearly entire 4.5 hours of my ride. I'd suggest referring to the race instead as Rain Fondo, or Gran Floodo, or Le Tour de Thunder. It was raining so hard, in fact, that I discouraged Randi from even daring to get out of the car to try and snap any photos at the starting line for fear that it would ruin the camera. My less fearful riding buddy Scot dared to pull out his Blackberry to capture me in front of the Philadelphia Art Museum within a pack of one thousand other shivering riders waiting to take off:

Asphalto de slicko le crasho might also have been a more suitable event title, as several riders fell victim to the rather greasy roads. I witnessed one disaster myself, directly alongside me as a dude went down and slid on his back about 30 yards. I managed to traverse the course crash-free, even through the one particular treacherous sharp downhill turn which unsurpisingly caused numerous pile-ups behind me. As can be expected, there were a good handful of sissies - approximately 500 of the registered riders to be more precise - that didn't even race. Perhaps I'm being facetious. Randi, who volunteered to work at the event, spoke to one rider that backed out; as a fireman, his wife convinced him that his job was to save lives, not to put himself in a position which required rescuing. Touche.

The weather on Sunday was in sharp contrast to the beautiful weather during registration the day before. The girls came down with me on Saturday to register and shop at the expo:

Randi braved the weather and worked the finish line, collecting the computer timing chips from the riders as they finished.

I must say, it was quite awesome to be greeted with a kiss as soon as I crossed the finish line!

Well, that's about all the ridiculous language translation jokes I can muster for one sitting. Sorry. Or you're welcome, whichever applies. If the latter, then you're probably just hoping there's a big payoff for persevering through this nonsense....Here you go:

Happy Birthday to me!

2011-08-10T01:54:00.000-04:00

I'm pretty sure I just violated the sacred code that you should NEVER congratulate, thank, or wish happy birthday to yourself using online media. But oh well. I am finally "done" with the video compilation of Kenley's first year. I use that term "done" loosely, because I am such a perfectionist that I think I could easily spend the next 12 months editing the video to make it just the way I want it. But, I think it's finally time to share it with you. Thanks to Kenley's Aunt Rhea, for leaving me with her Mac to play around with while she was in Africa this summer!

After many hours of work, frustration, and self-taught Mac skills, I present to you Kenley's first year (actually year and a half or so, because I started with Randi's pregnancy). This was quite literally one of the most frustrating projects I’ve ever worked on (if the fact that I'm posting this at 1:55 a.m. is any indication), yet the result is unquestionably the most rewarding. I had to break the video up into two parts in order to get it onto the blog; be sure to watch part 1, then part 2. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

This is a test

2011-08-07T17:04:00.000-04:00

This is only a test...for a video project I'm working on. Testing the privacy settings for embedded video from YouTube. If you happen to be able to see the short video below, please comment and let me know!

A great excuse for cake

2011-08-04T08:50:00.000-04:00

Finishing off Randi's commitment to get professional pics every 3 months during Kenley's first year, here are the pics for the 1-year mark. Randi felt it appropriate to take a prop to this photo session, which marked Kenley's now 3rd birthday cake, since she had a party in Oklahoma and in Pennsylvania. Recent developments include Kenley's pronunciation of "hungy" to inform of her desire to eat, and her "ahh" expression of refreshment after nearly every drink. Enjoy the pics!

Don't be alarmed

2011-08-02T09:22:00.000-04:00

In case you haven't heard, and in case you missed my blog post a few months ago, we live in close proximity to a nuclear power station. One of the nice things about living near a facility that could potentially meltdown and turn this entire region into a complete wasteland in just a few minutes is the friendly and comforting mailings we receive every now and then. They (whoever "they" are, presumably a government employee with a really strong work ethic that cares about his job) send us letters from time to time to reassure us that this Limerick, PA, facility is state of the art, eco-friendly, earthquake proof, psunami resistant, blah, blah, blah. They routinely test the sirens. So often, in fact, that were a real meltdown to occur, I'd likely pay no regard to the siren. It's just background noise here, kind of like Randi's voice when I'm watching a Cowboys game. (I'm going to get a beating for that one when I get home.) So today, this public notification was sent out:

If you hear two sirens this afternoon instead of one, don't be alarmed. Exelon Nuclear, which usually tests its siren warning system at 2 p.m. on the first Monday of every month, will be testing two sirens today. The company, who operates the Limerick Nuclear Generating Station, will not only test its current siren system, but also its new "state-of-the-art siren system". Residents will hear a steady 3 minute tone during both tests. The tests will be completed by 2:30 p.m.

The fact that they enclosed "state of the art" in quotations really puts me at ease. I presume now we will be given a couple of extra minutes notice that we're about to be reduced to a puddle of goo, and this should be just enough time to FaceTime our families to say good-bye.

In preparation for this apparent inevitability, I have implemented emergency response drills at home. Kenley is at the ready and prepared to make calls should she be the last one standing:

Wait til you see these...

2011-08-01T16:44:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, we had our 2nd annual church Block Party, inviting all the community of Birdsboro to come and enjoy free food and games. A bit later in the evening, we all grabbed a seat and watched a human video by the youth group, a sort of color-guard flag waiving to music thingy by some of the young girls, and a praise and worship set outdoors. It was during this time that our friend Meg Massey (Yes, THE Meg Massey, of http://www.megmassey.com/ fame!) captured these photos with her professional camera as I was holding Kenley and as she was crawling around:

With my less-than-professional iPhone camera, I captured these photos below. Here's Randi leading the girls in the flag demonstration (I know these will make my color-guarding sister Amy proud):

A young boy named Austin seemed to really take a liking to Kenley. He proceeded to allow Kenley to freely grab as much popcorn from his bag and as much ice from his cup as she desired:

Kenley also got her first moon bounce experience.

Randi and I got in their with her for a bit, then we exited down the slide. Actually, Kenley liked the exit slide so much we had to do it again. And again. And again. Roxana managed to catch some action shots:

The pink blur - that was Kenley.

Some new Kenley videos

2011-07-29T10:28:00.000-04:00

Here's a Friday treat for you - just a couple of videos of Kenley playing peek-a-boo and partaking in a delicious mint chocolate chip ice cream cone. Enjoy!

Signs and wonders

2011-07-28T15:15:00.000-04:00

Growing up, I loved to stare out the car window and read signs. My interest in signs and outdoor advertising heightened as a Marketing major in college, and to this day I am constantly disappointed in the numerous poor attempts exemplified pretty much every where I go.

Canada is no exception. Public signage, private signage, it makes no difference. Ambiguity, in my opinion, has no place when posting a sign, yet outright stupidity is often evident nonetheless. Let me provide you with a few examples from Montreal, Quebec, and keep in mind the unique challenge this area faces in regard to pure English folks as well as pure French-speaking ones:

The sometimes a picture isn't worth 1,000 words sign.

Could someone please decipher which one of these graphics represents the rental car area? If it's too much to ask for a few words in English at an international airport, I'll accept a "location de voiture" label and I'll figure it out on my own via Google Translate, but these hieroglyphics have just got to stop.

But don't get too carried away with the English, Canada. I mean, sometimes no explanation is necessary. Case in point, the redundant sign; alternatively called the no duh sign.

Red octagon equals stop. Yeah, I got that one already, and I could likely have assumed that the word "Arret" translated to Stop. Of all the confusing signs in your country, THIS is the one you feel necessitates interpretation?!

Then there's the it's never safe to assume a unit of measure sign.

Dare I? "But officer, this metric system of yours confuses me. I don't even know how many miles are in a kilometer!" I reckon that would fly, don't you?

I've always heard French refered to as the most romantic language. But who needs words, when the hotel's Do Not Disturb sign looks like this? (the please don't make any assumptions; I'm here on business, got in really late due to flight delay, and I'm just sleeping in a bit - by myself sign)

How about the lost in translation sign.

Good to see the F survived. Clearly, the F is the most important part of KFC's branding.

Speaking of poor branding, in line with the popular Couche-Tard convenience store chain up here, here's a classic don't assume I'm a fast food restaurant just because I have Woody Woodpecker on my sign sign.

Alternatively referred to as the don't let first impressions fool you sign, St. Hubert makes the age-old mistake of assuming that recognizability and friendly-looking cartoons equals gobs of customers. Were it not for an invitation from a local coworker, I'd have steered completely clear of this place. What is it, some fast-food chicken joint? No thanks, I'll stick with KFC, er...PFK. Actually, this chain turns out to be a pretty nice sit-down restaurant, reminiscent of a Red Robin. Go figure.

Disparity confirmed

2011-07-27T23:35:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been waiting in a long line, then seen someone casually walk right in and receive service ahead of you? Have you ever felt completely invisible to a waiter or waitress, to the extent you literally pinch yourself to verify that you really exist, look 360 degrees around to ensure that you are not dreaming, and/or make a strange and awkward noise just to see if it draws any attention from other patrons? Have you ever wondered just exactly who gets the brand new convertible Camaro that's always sitting in the rental car parking lot, while you are relegated to the Hyundai Accent?

How 'bout this one: Have you ever suspected that the folks on the top floor of your hotel are enjoying just a bit more luxury than you are down below? As you may recall, I've previously divulged "the truth behind the curtain" in first class airline seating here on this blog. Following suit, as this blog is always a reputable source due to my insatiable search for the truth, prepare yourself for the unveiling of one of life's few remaining mysteries: Yes; the higher the floor, the better the room.

Sure, you've always suspected this. We're instinctively inclined to believe this, even as children; who ever calls for the bottom bunk? No one. Instead, it's a fight for the top bunk. There's many reasons for this, not the least of which is the fundamental law of gravity, and the theory that fluids always flow down. If your head's getting wet in the middle of a slumber, it's not due to any plumbing issue of your own (hopefully)(?).

Now, I must admit this principle doesn't necessarily always hold true. For just last weekend, due to my "status" with Hilton, we enjoyed a complimentary stay at the Hilton Oceanfront in Maryland. And, in fact, we were offered a first floor, pool-side room - a room that is not even offered on the hotel's website according to Randi. And, because we were on the same floor as the grandiose lobby, our room's ceiling was like 15 feet high. A very, very nice room indeed.

On the other hand, I must admit that I've enjoyed the fruits of the top floors at many a hotel. A couple of summers ago, I enjoyed a complimentary evening at a different Hilton, and I was boarded at the top on the "concierge" floor. Chocolates on my pillow. Limitless hors d'oeuvres. Free bar (no surprise, I settled with for all the Coca-Cola I could drink). Luxury, my friends, pure luxury.

So, it should come as no surprise to me my discovery yesterday evening. Why should I, of all people, be taken aback by realization of one of my own projected theories? Well, perhaps it wasn't shock exactly, but rather offense and hurt that I was experiencing. For why should I, of all people, be relegated to anything but the top floor these days? I have obtained "status". For my many nights away from home, I demand the highest level of service. I am entitled to superior treatment. I deserve to be addressed as "sir"; I'll even settle for "Mr. McComber". I don't expect to be stationed in some inferior short-term rental housing whilst those above me enjoy the benefits that belong to me moreso.

I'm not a snob. I don't feel like I'm better than anyone else. We're all equal in this world. Even when I checked into this hotel Monday night, I didn't complain:

Nope, not a word from me about the 15" TV, the flowery cigarette-burned comforter, or any of the other furnishings that probably predate my own spouse. Not a word about my bathroom either:

It was clean. Everything worked and properly performed its function. Heck, I'm perfectly fine sleeping out in the woods for days. Modern plumbing and minimal germs suits me just fine.

Until...

I discovered I neglected to pack the charger for my laptop. I quickly came up with the solution: to borrow my coworker's laptop, who happens to be staying - you guessed it - on the top floor of this same hotel.

The moment I stepped off the elevator, I felt like someone just tweaked the giant wheel underneath the Orchid. Somehow, I just leaped out of the 1970's and into somewhere this decade. Here's the proof:

Note the king-sized bed. With more than 2 razor-thin pillows. And the computer desk - are you kidding me? And not pictured - the large, flat, HD television.

Need I go on about the ultra-modern sink and updated tile? No, I do not.

Thanks to my coworker, I was able to snap these photos to provide the necessary evidence to rest my case.

No thanks to my loyalty to Hilton hotels, this local small-town Canadian outfit - the L'Plaza Hotel Valleyfield - does not recognize my HHonors status.

And so it is. I'm sequestered with the rest of society, resting in the filth and lowliness with the grunts of this world on the 8th floor and below. And in case you're wondering, yes I did check every other floor of this 9-story hotel. Nine is in fact and not too coincidentally the magic number here.

Beach bums

2011-07-26T23:23:00.001-04:00

This past weekend, we headed "down the shore" to Ocean City, MD, for some chilaxin' on the beach. We had an incredible hotel room, which had a patio door to poolside. We also had a great view of the shore just beyond the pool.

By the time we finally made it through traffic and got there on Saturday, Kenley was ready!

I love this picture, except you can't really see Kenley save for an arm:

Kenley had fun playing with her beach toys. You may notice some traces of sand around her mouth; she couldn't resist the urge to see what it tastes like. That's our hotel in the background, just over Randi's right shoulder:

Pardon my nipple and pits.

There was an awesome kid pool, complete with slides, a whirlpool, and a lazy river. Here's Kenley sitting on the whale's blow hole:

This week, I'm back in Canada. Due to bridge construction, I'm unable to stay near the Montreal airport since I'm working in Beauharnois. Instead, I'm staying in a nearby town called Salaberry de Valleyfield. Like Beauharnois, it is a virtually exclusively French town, with hardly any English written on signs and menus, nor spoken by hotel staff or waitresses. After a brief downpour, it was a nice evening to enjoy walking around the nearby harbor to a local pizzeria. I waited too long until it was too dark to get any good photos. Here's the sidewalk along the harbor; there was a concert along the nearby boardwalk, with several boaters tailgaiting on their docked yachts:

Thanks to my iPhone and my Google Translate app, I was able to order dinner tonight. When greeted in French, I'm now accustomed to asking, "parlez vous anglais?" to help put the other person at ease. But if only you could have seen this ol' boy from Oklahoma fumbling around with some Canadian coins at lunch today, as I was trying to decipher how much money I had in my hands. They have 2 dollar coins and 1 dollar coins here, and I was standing there at the register studying them like an idiot. Oh well. It's quite a culture shock this week, and I'm just a bit out of my comfort zone. Can't wait to get back home.

circa 1990

2011-07-22T10:14:00.000-04:00

Note my height. I grew like a foot over the summer before my senior year. Ouch.

Note the dog. Penelope. She insisted on being held like a baby. She preferred to look at the world upside down. And she never made so much as a peep, save for barking at her one enemy, Pops.

Note the faux wood-paneled Olds station wagon in the background; this would indeed end up to be my weapon of choice for completing the driver's license exam on my 16th birthday.

Note the nice house. Last time I drove by this house, some moron had painted it - stone, wood, and all - white. Ummm...

Note the basketball goal. Undeterminable from this picture is the approximate 23% grade of the driveway; we were probably all leaning backwards to take this photo. You had better make the shot, or the ball was going across the street.

Note the fence. Just beyond it was my garden. I must have already harvested my corn and okra for the year. I think I can barely make out my zucchini plants.

Note the large trees. At the foot of them was my playground - the natural spring-fed creek. Except for the water moccasins, poison ivy, and quicksand, this place was amazing.

This was the house we moved into when we first moved up to Broken Arrow from Muskogee. Adam and I shared a room, while Amy got the other room upstairs. It was here that I truly began to annoy my brother, to the extent I believe he still begrudges me to this day. It was here that Mom became a cancer survivor. It was here that Dad returned each day from working harder than anyone else I've ever seen to support us. It was in that garage that we painted a Chevette yellow. It was on that driveway that I was Larry Bird for a few hours each day. It was in that backyard that Buffy died - the dog that had eaten my diapers completely off my naked body as a baby while Dad video taped me running around the yard in terror. It was that house where we grew up as a family and from which we eventually spread our wings.

ROTW: Just tell me why

2011-07-21T23:00:00.000-04:00

Just tell me why floor mats are not included in the purchase price of a $17,000 vehicle, American auto makers.
Just give me a reasonable explanation why you no longer will apply mustard to my Whopper, Burger King.
Just, for the love of all that is good and holy, explain to me why on earth you would enlarge the size of the chocolate chips in your double chocolate fudge sippable sundae, Steak n' Shake!

Steak n' Shake, we have a long history together. You and me - we go way back. I really don't want to hurt you; I just want to eat you. [Mom and Dad, you're welcome for the Frisco Kid reference there.] Thanks to you, Steak n' Shake, I'm at least 17 to 18 lbs. heavier. If you need proof of my affection for you, please refer to this previous post of mine. I never imagined the day I'd be forced to devote a dreaded Rant of the Week post to you, old friend.

So again I ask you, why change a recipe? Why, when you've so obviously won me over, would you go and mess with it? I mean, certainly you're not thinking this enlargement of the chocolate chips is an improvement are you? Look at this mess:

How am I supposed to get these things up my straw? While I once joyed in the occasional straw clog which resulted from excessive fudge or a bundle of small chips, I'm now frustrated to no end that these ginormous chips completely plug up the tip of it. It's worse than trying to get a 6'3" dude into a Smart Car; it just ain't happening. The fact that you hand me a spoon as you pass the shake to me through the little drive-thru window indicates that you've already conceded to the impracticality of the straw. You're Steak n' SHAKE, so why are you handing me a spoon?! Who eats a shake with a spoon? Eating a shake with a spoon is as ridiculous as eating a Frosty with a straw. Have you ever seen a sane person eat a Frosty with a straw? No, no you haven't. Speaking of Frosty's, what'd you do with my M&M Twisted Frosty, Wendy's? Oh, you just decided to discontinue that? Did you ever consider checking with me first? That would've been nice. You know, seeing as how you were my pseudo Steak n' Shake for the northeast, I was scraping by with the more than occasional stop for your mega-calorie chocolate treat. What am I to do now?

I'll tell you one thing...I had better not discover this ingredient change to be the result of some frivolous lawsuit. You know, like the moron that sued McDonald's because he burned himself with hot coffee? Steak n' Shake probably got threatened by some idiot that swallowed a few mini-chips and darned near keeled over were it not for a couple of timely upward thrusts from behind. Even if my insightful assumption is true, at least give me options; let me have my unsafe shake! Sure, go ahead and have a separate Wuss Menu in the bottom right corner of your sign, leaving an option for those weaklings who want cold coffee and large chocolate chips so that they won't choke. The exhilaration that I might die by inhaling a chocolate chip as I down a double chocolate fudge sippable sundae is part of the experience I pay for.

Look, I'm not making chocolate chip cookies here. I'm simply trying to enjoy all the benefits of a Chocolate Devotion from Cold Stone while driving, by sipping it all through a straw. Give me miniature sized chocolate chips. Give me M&M's in my Frosty. And dang it, give me mustard on my Whopper!

2 Cowboys fans walk into a bar in South Philly

2011-07-20T22:30:00.000-04:00

Sounds like the start to a great joke. Either that, or a headline for the Killadelphia, er Philadelphia, local news about the latest shooting. But, we lived to tell the story, mostly by not wearing any Dallas flair and refraining from any Eagles bashing during our dinner conversation. Who's the "we" - the other Cowboys fan - you ask? None other than Sean "Novacek" Novak himself. Yes, yet another of my old high school buddies made time to meet up with me while he was in the area working. Randi and Kenley came down to Philly with me to have dinner with Sean on Monday evening. I took them all to a great little South Philly secret gem - a hole-in-the-wall sports bar called Old Original Nick's Roast Beef, reminiscent of the type of place Vince Papale worked at in the movie Invincible.

Famous for its juicy roast beef sandwich and infamous for its nightmarish parking along the neighborhood streets, Randi and Sean both seemed to leave satisfied with my recommendation. This is the kind of place you love to be in the heart of the football season. I spent many a lunchtime in this place a couple of years ago, marveling at the colorful language expressed about the other team as well as their own. Lay low, minimize eye contact, pretend youz an Eagles fan, and never - I mean NEVER - divulge your allegiance to that other team. That is the secret to survival in South Philly.

It was great seeing you, Sean! Hope you enjoyed your Rita's Gelati as well. Have a safe trip back home.

K pics

2011-07-17T22:53:00.000-04:00

"K" is for kuteness, would you agree?

Above, at church tonight, sporting an outfit from her great Aunt Christy. Below, a pic taken over the 4th of July weekend at a photogenic spot near our favorite bike path:

Kenley is 13 months old today!

Daddy Time

2011-07-12T21:45:00.000-04:00

Tuesday nights = Daddy time (I babysit while Randi helps out at the children's service at church)

Tonight we had some Couch time: (notice Kenley's current favorite word, "Hi!")

Supper time: (not pictured)

Bicycle time: (also not pictured)

Music time:

Good times.

Weak stomachs

2011-07-07T22:20:00.000-04:00

Don't let my macho He-Man image fool you; I get grossed out pretty easily. Although, I'm fortunately not much of a vomiter. No, things that get to me just cause me to black out. My Mom loves to retell one particular story when I accompanied her on a hospital visit to see one of her friends. As we were walking down the hallway, a nurse wheeled a disturbingly sick looking person right past us. He was green in color, and I'm pretty sure your skin is never supposed to be green. I recall my vision myopically caving in, and the next thing I know, my Mom was picking me up off the floor; she says I backed up to the wall and slowly slid down it as I passed out.

It actually runs in the family. "Seeing twinklies" is our term for the distinct feeling of nausea and the fuzzy lights you begin to see as everything around you begins to go dark. This could be brought on by the sight of a grotesque surgery scene on TV, the thought of having any type of medical procedure performed on yourself, or even the mere mention of an unfortunate condition of a peer. For example, just yesterday I had to ask Randi to refrain from discussing her dental appointment with me, as I was driving 70 mph down a freeway at the time.

So as luck would have it, I recently experienced firsthand perhaps the most awful and horrifying thing a person could ever go through. Swallowing someone else's vomit would have to be at the top of this list, would it not? Yet, somehow it feels kind of special, for that night marked the moment I feel the three of us truly became a family. For each of us literally partook in the same food. Let me explain, with the assistance of some sketches, to help you understand how this beautiful disaster happened:

1. Earlier this year, while Randi was still nursing Kenley, she ate some food.

2. Afterwards, she nursed Kenley, passing along those important nutrients.

3. Shortly thereafter, Kenley enjoyed some Daddy time, which often involved some playful tossing into the air.

4. This up and down motion apparently stirred up the "weak stomach" genes in Kenley's little tummy. It just so happened at this very moment that Kenley's mouth was positioned directly over Daddy's mouth, both of which were wide open with excitement.

Whenever I've had opportunity to share this story (which is never, if Randi's around), I'm rarely asked to describe in detail the feeling of this scenario. So allow me to elaborate. You know that taste you get in your mouth after you throw up? Well, it's a lot like that. Except for that it's a slightly more odd taste, because it's not your vomit. Fortunately (?) I didn't swallow. I was keen enough to clinch my throat and hold the warm glob long enough for Randi to retrieve a burp rag for me to spit into. And thus, the food chain was complete. Mouth to breast to mouth to upset stomach to mouth...to your upset stomach?

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be

2011-07-06T19:29:00.000-04:00

And neither are cars. But pardon me while I get a bit nostalgic about my cars in this post. Actually, one car in particular: my 1979 Chevrolet Chevette - the one you may recall brief mention of within my recent Father's Day post. That post, along with the recent visit from my old high school buddy Chris, reminded me of that car.

You see, there's just nothing quite like your connection with your very first car. Sure, I've had connections with other cars since: there was the first car that I actually bought with my own money - my 2-door white '90 Ford Tempo; my first brand new car - a '95 Chevy Cavalier; my first SUV - a 2000 Xterra; and of course, my yellow Jeep Wrangler that could be driven without doors or a roof (gosh, I miss that thing!). But it's not necessarily about how awesome a car is that makes it nostalgic. Certainly, there was nothing awesome about my '79 Chevette. Nothing at all. Except for that it was mine. And I could go anywhere in it. Anytime I wanted to. And I could haul anything in it - my mountain bike, my lawnmower (I had quite the little business by the age of 16), my friends, my inflated inflatable raft (yes, there's a reason they don't call it a "deflatable raft") - anything, for this baby was a 4-door hatchback with back seats that laid down. Never mind that it didn't have air conditioning. Or a working horn. Or a gear-shift knob. Or a floor.

Before I get to the knob and the floor, let me tell you about the horn. Actually, let's just start with the steering wheel. Actually, let's start back to my early teen years when my Dad acquired this vehicle to commute back and forth to work for a period of time. I can recall summer nights riding around laying in the floor of the hatchback area, staring up through the sloped rear window at the stars. One particular summer night comes to mind, because it was the first time I heard Eric Carmen's Make Me Lose Control come on the radio, and I was like, "Dad, could you please turn the radio up for that sweet sound?" Hmmm, yeah, that was a good ride home...Anyways, I digress.  Around the time yours truly reached the age of 15, Dad began taking me on regular outings to a particular gravel road, pulling over, and letting me swap places to the driver's seat. It was on that stretch of road and in that car that I learned to drive, eventually daring to breach 10 mph and learning to shift the manual transmission from 1st gear.

Somewhere along the line, the Chevette got relegated to the grassy knoll at the side of the house. (Most people in Oklahoma have one of these areas - a stretch of lawn dedicated for parking of a car in various states of disrepair.) Unfortunately, the Chevette sat there for a couple of very hot summer months. When it became time to take it to the shop (a.k.a. the garage), I recall going out, opening the door, and pulling my shorts down as much as possible to avoid as best I could any blistering of the back of my thigh as I sat onto the hot-as-plasma vinyl seat.  No sooner did I grab the steering wheel with my hand that my fingers sunk into the molten steering wheel like silly putty; the steering wheel had literally melted into a black goo.

The necessity for a new steering wheel, however, became an opportunity to modify this '79 4-door hatchback into a race-ready hot rod, starting with installation of an arcade-style chrome-plated dragster-sized steering wheel. This could be had by going down to your local auto parts dealer, or "16-year-old-Drivers R Us" as AutoZone seemed to me. Not only would my 16th Birthday present (the aforementioned chrome steering wheel) come from here, but also a set of 4 plastic directional hubcaps (which would later be painted to match), a handful of awesome gear shift knobs which looked like they belonged in a Porsche, a mediocre to poor quality radio/tape player combo, a glowing license plate frame, and countless other necessary bling required to pimp the ultimate Chevette.

Once installed, the steering wheel looked nice. Really nice! Functionally speaking, however, it was, um, defunct. First of all, I failed to take the Chevette's lack of power-steering into consideration when opting to downsize the circumference of the steering wheel. This effectively increased the muscle-to-mechanical ratio by approximately 765% to turn the car at slow speeds. Indeed, this fact alone ultimately led to my decision to forego my driver's license test in the Chevette; alas, I took the much larger yet surprisingly more nimble Oldsmobile station wagon along for my road course.  Below is a rare pic of my Chevette.  This picture was taken the morning of August 9, 1992, while I was practicing my parallel parking one last time, shortly before my arms completely exhausted and forced me to resign to the Olds for my exam:

(miscellaneous trivia: in the background are 2 yards I used to mow; and I painted that blue fence across the street; and the pool in the backyard of the other house had more frogs in it than Susan Boyle's throat.)

Second of all, the horn button wouldn't stay on.

Third of all, the horn button didn't just fall off. Into my lap. The spring-loaded chrome horn button didn't just shoot forcefully at your chest. No, it was more than that. It was a warning signal. Well, more of a warning sign, that your car's warning signal (i.e. "horn", "honker", "beeper", "most annoying and obnoxious sound on the face of the earth") was about to go off. Indefinitely. Forever. Loudly. More loudly than normal. For when the horn button shot off, wherever you were, whenever it was, whatever you were on your way to or from doing, you were now instead driving straight home, as fast as you could, hiding your face at intersections, hoping to God horns must certainly at some point wear out, or give up, or burn up, or shut up, or AAAAAHHHHHHH HOW DO I SHUT THIS THING UP???!!! That's what became of your evening, or your morning, or your graduation ceremony. Until you got home, and Dad met you at the foot of the driveway and braved the deafening noise to crawl under the car and pull the magic wire to disconnect the horn from it's electrical circuit.

I was a bright kid. It only took me about 3 horn-to-chest strikes before I asked Dad to show me where the magic wire was.

Eventually, Dad proposed we paint the Chevette. So, one day we pulled the Chevette into the paint booth (a.k.a. the garage), and we painted it yellow. "Sunburst Yellow" was the official color; it was actually supposed to be the same color of yellow seen on Mazda Miata's at the time. To my Dad's credit, he was pretty good at painting cars. He and my brother had pretty successfully painted a classic Triumph TR6 earlier that year, so the Chevette was a cinch. It did turn out very bright. (Remember, I said I was a bright kid...what did you think I meant?) Bright enough that I could cut through Road Closed construction sites without much of a reaction from the crews. We also painted the hubcaps yellow for a nice professional, finished look.

But I didn't just take my chances on bridge closings. A wide open overgrown field was an invitation for practicing my handling skills. Or at least a few shortcuts were to be had. If you were wondering if it was me or some other bright yellow Chevette pulling up to your house, mine was the one with the notorious grass skirt hanging from the underframe.

Did I mention the gear shift knob? That thing was seriously stripped. Nothing would stay on that thing. I'd be driving down the road, go to throw a shift, and my hand would nearly go through the windshield as the knob slipped off the shaft. Crazy!

Oh, and it didn't have a floor. That it didn't hardly have a non-deteriorated shred of carpet left is a given. But the corrosion eventually got all the way through the front two floorboards. Advantage: It was way cool to watch the road beneath your feet as you drove. Disadvantage: A rainy day ride in the Chevette meant a wet ride in the Chevette. Don't wear your nice shoes is all I'm saying.

And then there was the side door panels. The powdery panels inside all four doors that I think used to be made of some sort of foam or plastic, prior to decay. It wasn't that big of a deal, so long as you didn't dare rub your clothes up against a door. Lean to the inside, unless you want to get out looking like you just lost a food fight in a bakery. A cool thing about it was, you could take your fingernail and draw your name in a door, or perhaps any other message suitable for the driving event at the time.

So, what does my buddy Chris have to do with any of this? Well, besides being privy to many a Chevette ride, he stole one of my yellow hubcaps. For unbeknownst to me, one evening on the drive to or from his house, I apparently lost one of these discs. Finders-keepers style, (I like to think of it as a sign of affection) Chris mounted the hubcap trophy-style on the wall of his bedroom. Chris - do you or John still have that thing?

So that's the story of a boy and his first car. Did I ever tell you about my bicycles? Never mind. Other than stitches, a broken tailbone, a cartwheel, a broken collarbone, and a collision with an automobile, there's not much to talk about.

"Happy 4th of Gelati"

2011-07-03T22:46:00.001-04:00

That's what was on our Rita's gelati cups this evening. Figured I'd post some pics of Kenley from our weekend so far.

The Bates family headed back home to Oklahoma. Kenley was already sporting some patriotic attire before they left yesterday. Here she is with cousins Brett, Caleb, and Great Aunt Tammy:

Here's a few pics of her patriotic dress she wore to church today:

She enjoyed a brief dip in her baby pool to cool off:

She went on a nice long bike ride, er nap, with Daddy this afternoon. Here she is, prior to me rocking her to sleep as I pedaled up and down the hills:

And here's Kenley getting her first taste of some fireworks: (note the near disastrous inadvertent sparkler strike to Daddy's face)

We ended up shooting off a few mild fireworks, and she did really good. She cuddled with Mommy, but she didn't seem terrified by the loud noises.

...or Rita's

2011-06-29T22:09:00.000-04:00

Rita's is another good local joint we might take you to when you come to visit us. Rita's is the place to hang out on a warm summer's eve to enjoy a tasty frozen custard treat. They serve several flavors of water ice - pronounced "wooter ice" if you're from Philly - which is basically like a snowcone. But, their real specialty is the Gelati, a combination of your choice of water ice and your choice of frozen custard.

Tonight, we were able to meet up with one of my old friends Chris, who was up from Georgia and working in Reading this week. Chris was one of my high school gang, and I haven't seen him in years. He got to meet Randi and Kenley for the first time, and we enjoyed catching up while enjoying an outdoor dinner and some Gelatis for dessert. Chris is proud to be a part of the gold-card carrying Starbucks elite. As a result of his daily visits for an Iced Venti Vanilla Ice Coffee and corresponding Foursquare check-ins, he is officially the mayor of his local Starbucks shop. (If you don't understand anything I just said in the previous sentence, you're probably better off for it.) Here he is showing off his personalized gold plated acknowledgment of gratitude from the esteemed coffee empire:

Way to go Chris. We are proud of you, and honored to be your friends.

And here's a picture you've not seen before. Cousin Roz has apparently been holding onto this little gem from her wedding earlier this year - a great pic of Kenley with her Aunt Christy:

Meet me at Shady Maple

2011-06-28T08:13:00.001-04:00

Whenever we have family come up to visit, it seems like Shady Maple is the place to rendezvous. It's an all-you-can-eat type place in the heart of Amish country; you can't get near the place without having to swerve around a horse-drawn buggy or two on the 2 lane country roads.

Last night, we met up with Randi's Uncle Skipper and her cousins Brett, Erin, Zakary, and Caleb. Skipper is Randi's Dad's brother.

They drove up to vacation a bit in the area. Aunt Tammy flew up to attend meetings in Philly, and she was unable to join us for dinner.

Caleb just finished 5th grade, and Zakary just finished high school and winning the state championship. Brett's working towards her coaching career. Erin is attending classes at a local college; she roots for Texas, but we won't hold that against her. Skipper works for the government, and I must admit, I despise him just a little for that.

Such an awesome family. It was great seeing you guys! (notice how I said that with an inferred assumption that you're actually going to follow through with your commitment to read my blog this week).

Why an iPhone increases your social status

2011-06-27T13:43:00.000-04:00

I recently posted my opinion about technology in church, and in that post I briefly touched on the trend of replacing the Holy Bible with a cell phone - how cherished printed pages have lately been relished to a mere app amongst hundreds of other games, links, and songs on our mobile electronic devices. It's the equivalent of carrying your backpack in to church, and then digging past the newspaper, magazines, comic books, and toys to retrieve your Bible buried within the other stuff.

That post, however, also remarked on my love of technology. (It's filled with Napoleon Dynamite references by the way, so if you haven't seen this timeless classic movie, or haven't seen it in a long time, or haven't seen it enough times to get those references, then it's time to watch it - again if necessary.) I do love technology. Perhaps not as much as some folks, for sure. I mean, I'm not crazy about it. I have a standard DirecTV-issue DVR; I don't have my TV wired through a computer. We have a standard walk-behind vacuum cleaner; no remote control robot vacuum for us yet. I still flip a switch to turn on the lights; I haven't yet invested in the Clapper.

I know, now you're thinking I'm just old-fashioned. I might as well trade my car in for a black horse-driven wagon and sever the electrical main to my house. Ironically, however, I am quite sophisticated and advanced according to some of my colleagues. Despite my self-realization of how truly uncool I actually am, there are those who are left fascinated by my tech savvy after reading my Tweets and watching my YouTube uploads.

But I really enjoy technology. Good, practical, user-friendly technology. So, I really love my new iPhone. Wait, no. I meant, I really need my iPhone. For without it, I would need to carry the following devices with me at all times: a phone, a camera, a GPS unit, an iPod, a remote control, a printer, an alarm clock, and the list goes on. OK, OK, so maybe I don't need each of these items at all times in all places. But, it's nice to know I don't need to worry about multiple devices. It's actually kind of embarrassing when you see someone who still uses a cycling computer mounted to their handlebars, or an actual video camera to film their daughter's first birthday party. But not nearly as shameful as someone pulling their flip-phone out of their pocket in a public setting. Seriously, you should just leave that flip-phone on vibrate and check your missed calls when you get back to the privacy of your own home. So lame. Heck, the very fact that my computer's spell-check function doesn't recognize the words "DVR" or "iPod" is a shame.

I once was turned off by the arrogance of Mac users and the superiority complex of iPhone owners. But now? Now I understand completely. An iPhone isn't just a phone. It's a game-changer. It takes your old antiquated cell phone talking life and turns you into Inspector Gadget. FaceTime alone will make you feel like you're living in, well, the year 2000. What's next, a fart noise machine? There's an app for that already, too.

If you're sitting here reading this and you don't yet have an iPhone, you are no doubt feeling inferior. Your feelings of inadequacy are normal, but unsubstantiated nonetheless. Simply go out and purchase an iPhone today. Or, continue to sit on the sidelines as the world passes you by. Either way, it's your choice, and I'm sure this whole iPhone fad will pass.

Backpacks in church were never cool, though.

Twice is Nice

2011-06-25T22:28:00.000-04:00

I hope Kenley doesn't get confused and think she's already 2. She had her second birthday party already! Today, we celebrated with Kenley's Grandma and Granddad and Uncle Rance, since they weren't present for the Oklahoma party. Here's the recap:

Opening presents...

led to playtime (one of her presents was a big playhouse)...

which led to an appetite (for ice cream cake)...

which caused a completely unforseeable mess...

which resulted in bathtime...

Bath time was particularly enjoyable tonight, since she had a crazy new bath toy fountain that sprays water everywhere!

After bath, Kenley spent the rest of the evening playing some more and chillaxing with the fam.

Forefathers to Four Fathers

2011-06-21T09:17:00.001-04:00

Alongside my widowed grandmothers and our wives and baby girls sat four fathers at the dinner table Sunday: my Dad, my brother, my brother-in-law, and me. As my Dad prayed over our Father's Day lunch, I was reminded of the legacy my grandfathers left for our family. Though I doubt they could have foreseen or even imagined such a large family someday sitting down together and remembering them, somehow these two men lived a life that led to this very moment. And as relatively young as I am, I've already had enough taste of life to understand this doesn't "just happen". For it isn't every family that loves each other enough to drop everything else to attend a holiday, a birthday party, or a dinner together. It certainly isn't every family that prays together. And it certainly is rare to have two sets of grandparents devoted to each other their entire lives, and to have a set of parents who stuck together through thick and thin. This gives me a sense of responsibility to carry on this tradition.

And this tradition is so much more than merely providing for the family. Pops as a truck driver, and Grandpa as a furniture salesman, no doubt had stressful days at work like me. I'm sure they struggled at times to figure out how to make ends meet. I'm sure they got frustrated and wanted to quit sometimes. I'm sure they came home exhausted and didn't feel like doing anything but griping and yelling and laying around. And even though Pops (jokingly) complained about the deal he made with Nanny - that "I make the money and she spends it; so far, she's keeping her end of the bargain", I never saw Pops or Grandpa treat my grandmothers with anything but the utmost respect, appreciation, and kindness.

And this tradition is so much more than merely making memories. Pops always had a joke to tell you, and Grandpa always had a story to tell you. And if you wanted to know about sports, go to Pops; if you wanted to know about dogs and gardening, go to Grandpa. Going to visit Pops meant spending some time playing pitch and catch, working in the woodshed building birdhouses, watching ESPN, and drinking Mountain Dew. Going to visit Grandpa meant going fishing, going hunting with a dog, hiking in the local park, reluctantly eating peach ice cream, and sipping iced tea. [Grandpa had an incredible memory, yet somehow never grasped that I don't like peaches or tea.] Yet while these are now memories for me, these were real moments that didn't "just happen". Grandpa and Pops clearly lived every day for today, and I'm glad they didn't put it off til tomorrow. I never remember either of them saying "no, there's not time for that."

So that's the challenge I have before me. Surrounded by four little girls, one on the way [Amy is pregos!], and doubtless more children, nephews, nieces, and grandkids to come, it's the dawn of a new generation in my family. Yet I know I'm living in the shadows of two great men who have done this before.

In case you missed it

2011-06-20T12:03:00.001-04:00

For those of you that were able to make it to Kenley's birthday party last Saturday, thank you so much for helping make it such a wonderful experience for her and for Randi and me! For those of you that weren't able to come, here's some pics from the party.

Here's the lady-bug-themed snack and dessert table:

Lots of fabulous gifts:

The BEFORE:

The DURING:

The AFTER:

Afterwards, Kenley had a pool party with her cousins:

Thanks again, everyone, for your love and generosity. Kenley is so blessed to have so many people who love her so much.

Things I learned from my Dad

2011-06-19T03:03:00.000-04:00

How to ride a bike.

How to play a trombone. Pretty well, not to toot my own horn.

To stay calm, even when the ref makes a horrible call. And it's OK to take your son out of the game if your boy doesn't do the same.

How to drive. In a Chevette. With no power steering, and a manual transmission.

How to paint a Chevette. Yellow.

Proverbs.

How to make chocolate chip pancakes. Runny.

Work ethic.

The importance of coconut on chili.

That you can pick your friends, and you pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose.

A sense of humor.

How to be a Godly example.

How to treat a woman.

How to be a Dad.

I reckon I could also make a long list of things he tried to teach me, most of which later in life I now wish I had listened to, such as how to play the piano, and how to fix pretty much anything on a car. But I didn't. And I won't. For today is not about my success or shortcomings as a son. It's about how having a really good Dad is truly a blessing from God, it's a head start on having a happy and successful life, and what responsibility he passes on to his son.

Dad, you have been like a mother to me.
But seriously Dad, thanks for being dad. Happy freakin' Father's Day! I love you.

"The Doyce"

Happy 1st birthday, Kenley!!!

2011-06-17T08:22:00.000-04:00

June 17, 2010.

Today should probably be as much a celebration of Randi's feat as it is of Kenley's arrival. 36 hours of hard work and all-natural labor and delivery. Randi, you are amazing!! And what a wonderful year it's been!

Happy birthday, Kenley! We love you so much!

Chicago

2011-06-17T00:58:00.000-04:00

Randi and I are in Chicago. Randi joined me for a manager conference with my company, and we're having a great time. We went to a Cubs game last night. The tarp remained on the field until dark, due to a nearly 2 hour rain delay:

We managed to stick around for just a few innings, but it was awesome being at this historic park.

This afternoon, our entire group - over 500 people, including some 273 managers plus their guests - participated in team building activities, which included bicycle building. In just a matter of minutes, we assembled something like 60 bikes, to be donated to needy children in the community.

This evening, we had free reign in the Museum of Science and Industry. I had some virtual butterflies land on my arm:

And my favorite attraction was the enormous model train layout, which included a replica of Seattle and downtown Chicago on either side of the room:

Meanwhile, Kenley has been having lots of fun with her MiMi and PopPop, as well as with her cousins. My folks sent me this picture from their swimming outing today:

We are missing her something terrible. Tomorrow is Kenley's birthday!!! We hope to see many of you on Saturday at her party!

Firsts

2011-06-13T01:50:00.000-04:00

This past weekend was Kenley's first family reunion. The Jernigan family reunion (my Dad's side) at my great uncle's ranch in Leonard, OK, gave Kenley opportunity for lots of other firsts, such as:

Her first sight of fishies (from the dock at the pond):

Her first ride in the back of a pickup (with her Great Aunt Cheryl):

Her first wagon ride (with her cousins Claire and Analise, and PopPop):

And, later this week, she'll get to celebrate her first birthday. Her cousins Allie and Clara both just recently celebrated their first birthdays:

What is it you do, exactly?

2011-06-08T18:29:00.000-04:00

I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.

Not really. Well, sort of. For fear of recourse by my company should they read my publicly-accessible blog, I dare not get too detailed so as to divulge any trade secrets or that kind of thing. I do get this question a lot, though. Rarely, in fact, do I elaborate about my job to anyone, because, quite frankly, it's kind of difficult to summarize what I do. It's fairly easy to explain what we do, as a company, or at least my division of my company anyway. In picture form, we transfer all kinds of chemicals from these:

Into trucks like these:

And we try not to do this:

As part of my company's safety department, part of my job, in fact, is to ensure our employees don't do stuff like that. [Disclaimer: I pulled all of these photos from Google Images, and none were taken from our operations. And, for that matter, we've never imploded a railcar, thank God.]

We have lots of operations all over the country, but mainly in the northeast. I have to travel to these locations to conduct training, help with hiring, perform audits, write procedures, etc. On the seemingly rare occasion I am in the office, I update manuals and emergency response plans and security plans, write topics for safety meetings, recruit for new employees, participate in lots of conference calls and meetings, and do pretty much whatever is thrown at me.

Sure, it sounds glorious. Right? Well, it's not bad. Not bad at all. OK, some days are bad. Some trips are long, and therefore really bad if Randi and Kenley can't come with me. Many times, there's need for me to get hands-on, and I find myself suited up in a chemical suit from head to toe working on top of a black railcar on a sunny 100 degree day; or working underneath a railcar sitting in mud on a rainy 30 degree day. Or covered in grease and grime repairing a piece of equipment. So, not very glorious. But I work for a really great company. Almost absurdly great, actually. There's a reason I've voluntarily relocated twice for them, and put up with the stuff I put up with from time to time. Overall, it's been a really good job for me and to support my family, despite the struggles, travel, and headaches sometimes.

So that's it in a nutshell. Hopefully I've removed a bit of the mystery for you. I'm finishing things up here in Cincinnati tomorrow, then back to Philly for an overnight stay at a hotel near the airport tomorrow night with the girls. We're heading to Tulsa this Friday for some much needed vacation time and to see our family. We have a big family reunion all weekend (my Dad's side of the family). Later next week, while Randi accompanies me to Chicago for some meetings and recreation, Kenley will get some quality alone time with her MiMi and PopPop (my folks).

How 'bout a pic of Kenley? Can you believe she turns one year old a week from Friday?!

Always and forever

2011-06-06T10:22:00.000-04:00

If you missed my unofficial "rant" about the pre-packaged all-in-one communion kit, it's a preface to today's post, so ketchup, err catch up, on it now by clicking here.

Yes, I love technology, but not as much as God, you see. And I'm borderline mennonite when it comes to technology in church. It has its place, don't get me wrong. In fact, without it, we wouldn't be able to reach the world like we are and reap the great harvest. Without it, I'd be scribbling my thoughts on paper, hoping my great-grandkids would find them in an old chest and laugh about them some day, instead of posting onto a blog. Without it, however, Sunday church services could be a bit more genuine. Without technology, for example, we'd be forced to remember, recall, and think about the lyrics to the songs we sing, instead of reading them off a projector screen. And without it, for example, we'd still have to bring our Bibles to church; we couldn't use the "it's got the entire Bible on it, in any version you want" argument as an excuse to get our cell phones out during service.

But, without technological advancements in church technology, such as the cellophane, foil, and plastic sacrament contraption, we wouldn't have this:

Sure, the World Wide Web is great, but what really makes me salivate? Chick-fil-A waffle fries with a side of ketchup. While I don't want to know how Heinz figured out how to keep fruit-, wait, no, vegetable-based (which is it?) product from going rotten at room temperature, I do want to know who's idea this invention was. I can't help but presume that Christian-based Chick-fil-A presented the communion cup packet idea to Heinz and asked, "How can you apply this concept to our ketchup packets?" And perfect it they did. No longer will you need several foil packets to adequately flavor your fries. No longer will you need razor sharp teeth to open from the corner, careful not to cut it too small that it squirts sideways onto you or your neighbor's shirt yet not too big that it comes out in one large untidy blob. No longer will you need to rip your chicken sandwich's foil-lined paper sack in half in order to have a slick, unlevel, and unsteady platform for your ketchup blob to rest on while you dip. No, we have technology. We now have ketchup packets that give you the option whether you want to squeeze or dip. With pre-tabbed peel back flaps. With a capacity that outperforms 5 to 6 of its predecessors.

This has to be one of the greatest inventions of the 21st century. Thank you, whoever invented that horrific sacrilegious bread and grape juice thing. For, now my love for Chick-fil-A and technology can fully bloom.

Yes,

2011-06-03T10:16:00.000-04:00

yes we did keep the plastic on the new dining room chairs.

Eat, sleep, play. Repeat.

2011-05-31T21:26:00.000-04:00

This is how Kenley prefers to sleep these days:

This how Randi caught her after a nap last week:

This is how Kenley spends most of her time riding a bike (trying to get her biker chick helmet off):

Worst to first

2011-05-28T22:19:00.000-04:00

It's been an extremely busy, stressful, exhausting work week, all leading up to yesterday, which ended up being one of the 10 worst days of my life. Or at least there was a bottom 10 moment in there somewhere, before getting home late yesterday evening and having a great evening with Randi's fam. It was "family night" by request of Rhea, involving many favorite foods of her choice and a lengthy game of Canasta as a send off before her flight out on Saturday for Africa.

One thing keeping me going all week was my anticipation of my first century ride on Saturday. Today was going to mark my first attempt (and hopefully success) at cycling 100 miles straight. Today, however, did not go as planned. After staying up late playing cards, I still managed to wake up to my alarm on time to get prepared and arrive a few minutes early for the 9:00 a.m. ride start. Um, wait a second...(my groggy mind started to question itself at this early hour...) Does the ride start at 9:00 or 9:30? Perhaps I could snooze for another 30 minutes. Let's double check the website and confirm...whuh?! what?!! 8:00 a.m.??!!! Are you kidding me?! At this point, it was 7:40 a.m., and all hope was lost to make the ride. Down the tubes went my dreams. Disappointment and frustration again began to settle in.

Then, before I knew it, I was awaken by a smiling baby and her beautiful mom, asking me if I would get up and fix them pancakes for breakfast. After that, we decided to continue our Craigslist search for cheap used bikes. This search continued to go about like our search for a cheap used dining room table. Somewhere in the middle of a used furniture store, Randi recalls me saying, "I don't feel this poor." I know, right? Such a snobby, stuck up, materialistic thing to come out of my mouth. But it's true. I'm a sucker for quality. Especially for things I know I'll use for a long time.

So away we went. Off for a full afternoon of bike shopping. By about the third bike shop, I'd found my prize. Randi's purchase came on the next stop. We had recently sold Randi's road bike on Craigslist so that we could purchase a hybrid style bike for her to ride on some of the unpaved trails in the area. I also needed a bike to mount a rack/baby seat onto, because neither my mountain bike nor my road bike are capable of such (yes, I need three bikes). By evening, we were ready to head out and hit the trail.

These were the best pics I could muster while managing an off-balance two-wheeled contraption on uneven surface with a fragile cargo:

Kenley's helmet is yellow with a collage of little chicks with yellow beaks. Fairly cute. I'm not sure I'll ever forget the first time I saw my baby girl in a bike helmet.

The shop where we got Randi's bike had a built-in bike museum! It included bikes from the mid-1800s, as well as the world-record setting Schwinn that hit 108 mph in 1941. (By the way, I'm not sure there was any type of vehicle in 1941 that I'd have felt safe in at that kind of speed. Insane.)

Top 5, best days ever.

Up to speed

2011-05-21T21:37:00.000-04:00

Let's get you caught up on Kenley, first of all. All of a sudden, she is progressing so quickly. She can fairly easily pull herself up to standing position now. She can drink through a straw. She says "all done" when she's full after a meal. She enjoys taking items out of suitcases, diaper bags, purses, etc. She sits on her knees to play. And, one of the most exciting things, she all of sudden has figured out how to move her legs to take steps while standing!

Randi used Kenley's Easter money sent from MiMi and PopPop to buy the little push-walker thingy featured in the video, and she absolutely loves it. It plays great dancing music as she walks. She is also quite speedy at crawling these days, though it's still her upper body doing most of the work.

Speaking of speed, I want to pass along the big THANK YOU from my coworker Tom who was helping lead the charge in winning the Toyota sponsifier contest for the cause of Lafora disease and Chelsea's Hope. We won! The car will be featured in tonight's NASCAR race on the Speed channel. Tom and the Chelsea's Hope organization are hopeful that tonight's race will help to bring national attention and support to fighting this horrible disease.

You may have noticed the new look of my blog - thanks to my good friend Meg Massey! Meg helped me in setting up Rhea's Africa blog, and she offered to help with mine as well.

Speaking of Rhea, this is her last week at home. She has been so busy lately with school and finishing preparations for her trip. I apologize for the lack of posts on the R.I.A. blog, but rest assured that her funds are coming in. She already has some amazing stories about how God has blessed her and provided for her. She also credits the blog, as this has been her primary means of bringing in her financial support for this trip. Thank you so much to all of you who have helped. Please continue praying for Rhea. She'll be getting her visa, getting supplies and medicine, packing, and spending lots of time with her family this week before flying out next Saturday May 28th for Mozambique. Continue to check her blog through the summer, as I'll be periodically posting updates from her trip.

Slightly skewed Unemployment Rates

2011-05-13T22:22:00.000-04:00

You've heard me say before that I seriously question the validity of the publicized "unemployment rates" in this country. In the past, I've made this argument from the standpoint of work ethic, or lack thereof. In other words, I wonder what percentage of today's unemployed actually want to work. Sure, there are a good handful of honest, hardworking Americans that have lost their jobs due to the poor economy and layoffs and are desperate to find work so they can feed their families and live a good life. On the other hand, there are certainly a lot of folks looking for the next handout. And it's almost hard to blame them, what with a government that actually incentivizes laziness through programs like welfare, social security, unemployment pay, etc. And unless and until such incentives are abolished in this country (that will likely be around the same time hell freezes over), we'll continue to see the degradation of society and our economy, for it was by good old-fashioned hard work and free market capitalism that the United States was able to explode onto the world scene as a powerful, successful, and admirable country. As the government has continued to grow and as the rights of citizens have continued to be diminished, so have disappeared these terrific qualities we once enjoyed. And this should be of no surprise; this was even predicted by Thomas Jefferson, "The democracy will cease to exist when you take away from those who are willing to work and give to those who would not."

Now as for the other unemployed folks that are still willing and able to work, I make this argument: Unfortunately, some are just pathetically too stupid to be seriously considered for employment. Take the following examples below. The first two are actual excerpts of responses to questions on electronic applications for positions I'm hiring for at my company:

A separate applicant responded to this question oddly:

I can't make this stuff up. I've many times considered that I should write a book just remarking on the numerous and hilarious pitiful recruiting stories I have. This lady (who claims to be a CPA, by the way) submitted her resume to us, then followed up with this letter:

My only question is, why didn't she just say she was a rape victim in the first place? That would have eliminated this question from the recruiter's mind, and probably would have led to a personal interview. After all, being a victim of rape is a minimum qualification we have for our accounting department. Those who have not been raped need not apply.

I rest my case.

Mother's Day pics

2011-05-11T19:11:00.000-04:00

Here's some pics from Randi's official first Mother's Day:

Lucky me

2011-05-07T22:00:00.001-04:00

I hope that readers of my blog never get a foul taste in their mouths, especially the really gagging kind you get when you talk to someone who's really full of themselves. You know, those people who seem to have it all together, have such perfect families, are too busy to have much time for you, and believe they're pretty much God's blessing to humankind. That can be kind of annoying, and I try not to blog like that. It's easy to hide behind a blog, though, and to get caught up when writing so as to give off the "all is well here in Mayberry" update once a week or so. I'm probably guilty of doing so from time to time myself, and today's post is definitely going to sound a bit conceited. But what else can I say on Mother's Day except to boast about the amazing women in my life?

As a regular listener of the Dr. Laura radio program, I am constantly reminded of how special the relationship with a mother is. A frequent issue for callers on her program is the relationship with their mothers; they describe how much they care for their "mothers", yet their mothers actually sound like pathetic excuses for such and are hardly deserving of the title. For even though their mothers cursed at them, abandoned them, were drunk or strung out on drugs all the time, or sat by and allowed them to be abused by another family member, even these children grow up still longing to be close to their mothers.

But what truly makes a mother special is not the title. And it's not that she fed you and clothed you. Not even the fact that she went through months of discomfort and anywhere from a few to many long hours of painful labor and delivery to birth you. What makes a real mother special is her ability to make her family feel special. Her way of putting her family first, of sacrificing, of caring for her family's needs more than her own. And what makes my baby-momma, my Mom, my Grandma, and my Nanny the most amazing of all is not just their love for family, but their love of Christ. Even dating back to previous generations, I have an incredible Christian heritage in my family. And therefore, I'm not even sure I'm as much "lucky" as much as I am blessed. I don't think it's mere coincidence, for example, that I have a mother and grandmother who pray for me every day and that I found a wife that loves Jesus, me, and her baby girl like she does. I also don't believe it coincidental that Randi's faith and love are evident in her mother, her Grandma, and her great-grandmother as well.

There's indeed something special about being a mother. It seems to me such a great responsibility, such a great burden, and such a thankless job sometimes. Once a year probably isn't frequent enough to dedicate a day to thanking these incredible women. I'm going to call my Mom and my grandmothers tomorrow, and I'm going to really miss not being there to hug them and talk to them in person. I will instead have to settle for lunch with my baby girl and her Mommy, and my mother-in-law and her family. And I'm so thankful to have a mother-in-law who's treated me like one of her own since before I officially became hers.

Happy Mother's Day, mothers!

P.S. Mom, the always reliable and heavily federally-funded U.S. Post Office returned your Mother's Day card to me about 4 days later requesting additional postage. I'm not even kidding. It's on its way again...

P.S.S. Yes, the government is to blame for everything that goes wrong in my life.

Fish food

2011-05-05T20:41:00.000-04:00

As if I needed another excuse to avoid seafood...

Those who know me know that I steer clear of any meat that doesn't walk on land. With the exception of some really good lobster I had in Maine last summer, I haven't ever really got the point of paying high prices for something that tastes "fishy". Well, now with the understanding that even our own government has adopted mafia tactics and is now in the business of dumping bodies into bodies of water (shouldn't it be "water of bodies"), I am faced with the reality that there's a chance my next bite of some creature from the sea may have eaten another human. Not only that, a muslim human. I think they hold cows sacred, or something like that. What if, by way of food chain, I eat one of them? Do I get like 80 virgins when I die? I wonder...

And I wonder how Osama is enjoying his reward of virgins about now. While seafood eaters are enjoying his saltiness through second- or third-hand food chain cuisine, he must be laughing from above at all us dumb Americans right now. Well, either that, or he's burning in hell.

And I sort of enjoy that thought. Yep, I pretty much like to hate Osama. I'm one of those crazy people that actually felt like celebrating when I heard the news this week. No, the very nice, understanding, and loving people like Steelers' running back Rashard Mendenhall would not think much of me. It wouldn't take much waterboarding for me to layout just how much disdain I have for Osama and other terrorists, and just how much I'd like to exterminate them completely from the face of the earth. Meanwhile, there's more sane folks like Mendenhall tweeting niceties like "What kind of person celebrates death? It's amazing how people can HATE a man they have never even heard speak. We've only heard one side ...". Yes, it is indeed amazing how much I could possibly hate a person that enjoys murdering thousands of innocent Americans. Yes, Mendenhall is clearly a more patient and understanding human than I. I kind of admire him for that.

Either that, or I'm being sarcastic and he's actually an idiotic buffoon.

Well, there's just simply not enough time in my days this week. I had to respond to the recent news briefly; I wish I had time to write more, because there's so much to discuss these days. In the meantime, here's some catchup on Kenley:

One of my favorite new feats that Kenley can do is supporting herself as she hangs by her hands. She is quite strong! She can nearly do a pull-up. Getting her to do this on camera is, well, impossible so far. Here's a pic of us trying to get her to demonstrate on camera using the hotel's baggage cart last week:

We finally are proud owners of a dining room table! This means no more eating from a Bumbo seat on the sofa in the living room; it means a brand new high-chair and family meals at the dinner table from now on. Tonight was our first dinner at the table:

Good causes

2011-04-29T10:20:00.000-04:00

In case you missed the announcement on my blog in a previous post, or in case you've been meaning to send financial support and haven't gotten around to it, my sister-in-law Rhea is going to Mozambique in Africa this summer for a missions trip, and her deadline is quickly approaching. This is an awesome opportunity for us that are unable to physically go onto the mission field to still be a vital part of the body of Christ. For more details, click on the picture below to go to the blog we've set up for her:

Also, a coworker and good friend of mine is helping lead the charge in the fight against Lafora disease - a disease that is affecting his own granddaughter. If you're like me, you've probably never heard of this disease before. In effort to increase awareness and support, they have entered a NASCAR design contest by Toyota; the design with the most votes will be painted onto an actual car to be raced in May. It's free to vote, and you can vote once per day by going to chelseashope.org. Click the picture to go directly to the voting page on Toyota's website:

Easter pics

2011-04-26T22:07:00.000-04:00

Taken on Sunday in our new backyard, with our tulip tree in the background:

Kenley's newest favorite hobby is picking things up (all things, anything within reach) and then dropping them. Repeatedly. In this case, an Easter egg:

If you look closely, you can see Kenley's first tooth pretty well. A second tooth is just starting to come in right next to it:

Grandma and Granddad:

Aunt Rhea:

Uncle Rance:

Daddy:

Call me old-fashioned...

2011-04-25T17:47:00.000-04:00

but I just have a problem with this picture:

The first thing you may notice is that it's no wonder I'm not a hand model; I'm no George Costanza. Secondly, notice that this contraption made of plastic, foil, and wax paper is an all-inclusive communion kit. It comes with a wafer of styrofoam breadlike substance embedded beneath an adhesive wax paper cover and resting on top of a foil lid which seals a cup of (presumably) grape juice.

Though the picture is studio-quality, I actually snapped this photo post-sacrament at this past weekend's Assembly of God Pennsylvania/Delaware District Youth Convention. As a chaparone to the youth, as a leader at my church, and as a member of said denomination, I am a bit hesitant to blog on such topic. However, as a Christian and as a shock-blogger, I just can't let this one go; I feel compelled [inside joke] to give you my opinion on such nonsensical ideas as this one.

I mean, it's one thing to save money and to save time. It's another to do both at the sacrifice of giving adequate respect to one of the most cherished traditions Jesus commanded us to practice - a remembrance of His sacrifice. Granted, He didn't get too awfully specific as to how the breaking of bread and drinking of the cup should be practiced, and I reckon He didn't specifically rule out all-in-one kits. But come on, man! This is ridiculous, don't you think? Could any of those present at the Last Supper have foreseen such disrespect? That's what it is, in my opinion.

So how do you do communion in a sports arena filled with over 8,000 teenagers? I don't know. Maybe you don't try. Or, maybe you try just a little bit harder than this. On that note, what if churches tried just a little bit harder on all the important stuff. Maybe if they put even half as much effort into the important stuff as they did into the unimportant/borderline sacrilegious stuff, today's churches might be making a bit more of a difference in people's lives. What am I saying? I'm saying lives are more likely to change if more effort is put into developing real relationships with outsiders and newcomers and ultimately helping them build a personal relationship with Jesus than as much effort is placed in building cafes and coffee bars. Like one of my favorite King of the Hill episodes when Hank takes his family to a megachurch and leaves after service completely appalled, there is literally a local megachurch here with a cafe SELLING coffee, with store signage designating it as "Sacred Grounds" cafe. Grounds - a play on grinding coffee beans, I presume. Sacred - a play on that the church property should presumably be a sacred place. Didn't Jesus Himself throw these kind of people out of the Temple?

I'm getting off on a tangent I used to be somewhat numb to. Indeed, I had become numb to the kind of church auditorium which resembled more of a sports arena than a sanctuary. Instead of an altar, there's a stage. Instead of the Word being preached, there's an entertaining video or PowerPoint presentation. Instead of a collection table for food and clothing for the local needy, there's a cash register for the church's cafe and t-shirt sales. Yes, I find myself becoming less and less numb to this sort of stuff, and more and more bothered by it.

I don't know, maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just not a teenager anymore. You??

The most significant event in history

2011-04-23T22:41:00.000-04:00

Happy Easter!

Things my Mom would ground me for, if she only knew

2011-04-19T22:59:00.003-04:00

Mother's Day is coming soon, and I didn't want to waste my Mother's Day post on this topic. So, consider today's post as a precursor to Mother's Day, though not an indicative one of my actual Mother's Day post. Instead, expect a sappy post in May geared strictly at making the women in my life teary-eyed and so incredibly happy that they have me for a son/grandson/son-in-law/husband.

Note to my readers: My memory of my teenage years may be the least bit groggy at best, given the numerous beatings I suffered. Hmmm. Let's see if I can remember them all:

1. Church parking lot, a Wednesday night after Youth Service, by Kevin Behe. This one was the result of some girlfriend swapping. I think I had just started dating his ex-girlfriend, and he was certainly dating my ex-girlfriend. I had confronted my ex-girlfriend about the trash she was talking to my current girlfriend. Yada, yada, yada, next thing I know Kevin comes up from behind me as I'm climbing into my parents' Chevy Lumina spaceship/mini-van, punches me in the face, and I wake up laying on my back in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a crowd of my peers. I'm then informed by a friend that, upon knocking me unconscious, Kevin proceeded to grab my hair and bash my head WWF-style against the concrete lot. This led to a Mom-escort to the hospital.

2. Neighborhood street in front of John Pawloski's and Chris Kea's house in suburbia Tulsa, by a familiar looking face. This one was a flat-out mugging. Shortly after I had climbed into my parents' Chevy Lumina spaceship/mini-van, put it in gear, and proceeded to turn around in the street to head home for the evening, a dude opens the driver-side door. With a hand in his pocket as if he has a gun, he says "Gimme yo' wallet o' I'm gone kill ya'." Naturally, I laughed as he said this. (Seriously, I laughed. I knew him. I wasn't sure from where, but I knew this guy. So, of course, this was obviously some hilarious practical joke my friends John and Chris had put this guy up to.) Apparently he was offended by my laughter and slow response in handing him my wallet, so proceeded to jump on top of me and pummel my face with one hand while reaching around to my back pocket with the other. My ability to avoid strangulation by the seatbelt and honk the car horn with my knee had apparently scared the guy to the point of jumping back out of the van. It was only after watching the guy run and dive headfirst into a getaway car that I realized that my wallet was gone, that we struck a mailbox which had forced the car door shut yet somehow not crushed him or my legs in the process, and that my face hurt real bad. Oh, by the way, I was able to identify the guy to the police with the aid of my high school yearbook.

3. QuikTrip (the Oklahoma equivalent of the great northeastern chain Wawa), suburbia Tulsa while parking the family Triumph TR6 convertible in the lot to grab a fountain drink. Before I could unfasten my seatbelt, a dude with glassy eyes jumps off his Harley, grabs me around the throat, and says something about how "someone's gonna kill you someday, you little punk". I had waved at the dude at a stoplight a mile back (I was ridiculously friendly to strangers back then), and he mistakenly thought I flipped him the birdie. After a long, painful minute or so of strangulation, he hopped back on his Harley and rode away into the darkness. I think I opted out of the drink at that point, but I don't clearly recall.

4. Hotel room, somewhere in the Hollywood area, probably around 3 in the morning. Youth sponsor Dave Jacinto took on the challenge of overseeing my hotel room. I was enamored with Dave's muay thai fighting skills. Dave was less enthralled with my eagerness to pillow fight him til the wee hours, whereby he swiftly kicked me in the chest. I flew off the bed and headfirst into the corner of the wooden base of the neighboring bed, and proceeded to fill the bathtub with blood from a sizeable gash in my skull. That was an awesome senior trip - what I remember of it, anyway.

Now, let me divulge. I did many, many things as a teenager that I'm not proud of. Scratch that. I did many, many things as a teenager that my Mom would not be proud of. Below is an all-inclusive list, as far as I can remember:

1. Riding on top of vehicles, stuntman style. I was a human luggage rack. Somehow, while everyone else my age was out getting drunk at parties, I was the "good" kid, who got my kicks by bending some laws and laughing hysterically all the while.

2. Driving backwards. Weird, right? Imagine driving down the street and coming up behind a car with its headlights shining at you. You'd probably freak out for just a moment, wondering if you were actually driving the wrong way, right? Yup. That's what makes it so funny.

3. Driving through fields, over bridges that were closed for construction, and pretty much anywhere roads wouldn't take you but you needed to go. No easy way to get from Chili's parking lot to Woodland Hills Mall? No problem. There's a Chevette for that.

4. Driving without lights on. Stealth was just beginning to gain popularity in my heyday. The military was going to great expense to avoid detection. I found I could accomplish the same invisibility by driving through dark neighborhoods at high rates of speed. The real trick was taking the corners without applying brakes; the brake lights would blow your cover in an instant.

5. Fake collisions and fist fights at intersections. My friend Dave San Martin and I shared a lot of things together - living quarters, ex-girlfriends, and as drivers of clunky cars. We soon discovered that we could actually rear end each other without causing significant or worrisome damage to either vehicle. This ultimately evolved into full-on Broadway-worthy WWF-style body-slamming-onto-hood staged fist fights over who was at fault and who would pay for this wreck. Once the light turned green, showtime was over, and it was on to the next intersection for a continuation of the reinactment.

6. Nearly getting kicked out of Disneyland. Out of nowhere - like, seriously, out of the woodwork - I found myself surrounded by security within seconds of sneaking up behind Mickey Mouse and lifting his head off. Did I mention it was a great senior trip?!

[Can you find me? (second row) Also pictured are John, Chris, Kevin, Dave, and both ex-girlfriends.]

Mom, I'd like to say I've matured and grown out of this childish behavior. Truth is, you'd probably be ashamed that I found myself in the middle of a mosh pit at a recent Disciple concert. I've lived an amazing life, and I'm still in good shape. I'm nearly halfway to 70, so what have I got to lose at this point? ...
Cue Randi, "You have a KID! And she needs a DAD!" (Can you tell that I've heard this a few times?)

Barack Hussein Obama is not a socialist

2011-04-18T21:56:00.001-04:00

He is a communist. My bad. All this time I've had my Marxist definitions confused. I wanted to include the Merriam Webster definition of socialism to compare it to a CNN.com quote I read today. (Honestly, I try not to read the newspaper, watch the news, or read CNN.com too often, because it inevitably leads me to a political blog post. And I know my audience. My audience wants cute baby, not political blast; it wants funny, not controversial; it wants love, not hate.)

But I digress. I hate government. I love my government. But I hate government. One of the reasons I love my government is that I can say "I hate government" and I can accuse my President of being a communist. According to CNN.com, the White House says the President is touring the country to "discuss his vision for reducing our debt and bringing down our deficit, based on the values of shared responsibility and shared prosperity."

Shared prosperity? This is worse than I thought. All this time, I just thought Barack Obama was just another ignorant, inexperienced career politician - a stereotypical wealthy graduate of an ivy league school with no real world application of capitalism and work ethic. Little did I know this guy actually believes in running this country counter to the beliefs of our forefathers who founded it. According to Merriam Webster, communism is "a final stage in Marxist theory in which the state has withered away and economic goods are distributed equitably." Goods distributed equitably sounds to me a whole lot like shared prosperity. And the truth is, our current government wants to bring everyone else down to equal level, rather than focusing efforts on allowing opportunity for the less fortunate to bring themselves up to better themselves and their families.

If I had the time and the audience, I could rant every day about the nonsense we continue to tolerate in this country. A Congress that skips out of town to avoid a vote, which then turns around and has the gall to tell our military families that they will not be paid due to the budget crisis. Insane amounts of our tax money spent on government programs to pay for people who don't want to work to have food, clothing, and shelter. A government comprised of career politicians, elected over and over again, everyday an expanding gap in their touch on the reality of the average working class American. Government jobs and government spending increasing, during a nationwide recession. A President complaining that a budget forces us to have to make cuts on important things like clean energy; meanwhile, gas is $4 per gallon, and he and the left-wingers are opposed to drilling our own oil from our own reserves.

Here's a secret: Want to know why the unemployment rate isn't getting better? Because job recruiters like me at companies all over the country aren't hiring people who like to sit at home while we work to pay for your ability to do so. When I ask you in an interview to explain an employment gap prior to your most recent job, and your response to me is "my unemployment ran out", guess what? I'm not going to hire you! I would prefer to hire someone with a little work ethic, a little pride, a little sense of EARNING a living.

Speaking of jobs, the government's job is not to create jobs, Barack. It should, however, do everything possible to create an environment in which entrepreneurs are eager to take a risk and are reasonably able to succeed, which in turn creates jobs. And Barack, may I suggest you read up on your predecessors, such as one Thomas Jefferson, who predicted, "The democracy will cease to exist when you take away from those who are willing to work and give to those who would not."

Like father, like daughter

2011-04-15T21:32:00.000-04:00

I guess we all know where Kenley gets her dance skills from.

More bashing of Canadiens

2011-04-14T17:22:00.000-04:00

If you missed my first post about Canada, click here. One of my loyal readers sent me a follow up email to that post, as she took exception to my bashing of our friends up north. Now, I know Jesus loves them too, I'm just not sure He likes they say "heh?" after every statement. If I was Jesus, I'd be like "shut up with the 'heh' already!" Anyways, this is clearly a reader who get's it, and so I shall reward her by sharing with the rest of you her own Canadian Top Ten list, er...Canadien Top 12:

Hi Matt!

I am a faithful reader of your blog. Actually, I like to check out Kenley's pictures more than read what you say! [Thanks? or, ouch? At least you wrote a very sweet post-script!] Anyway, I read your blog about your trip to Canada. I understand that everyone has there favorite places to go and you are by far the more traveled person than I and know the best places to go. [And not to go (i.e. Canada). ]However, I must speak up when it comes to Canada for you see, when I said "I do" I not only became a wife but I also became a Toronto Maple Leafs fan. [And I - a Sooners fan. I feel your pain.] Then when our son was born he also became a TML fan and has the bedroom to prove it! Ethan was placed on ice hockey skates at the age of 3 and has played hockey ever since. Our oldest daughter, Natalie, was able to avoid hockey skates and gets away with just being a fan. Yes, I do agree that hockey seems to be the ugly stepsister in the sports world, but I 'm sure you will agree that ice hockey players have less dealings with the law and illegal drugs than any other sport (I'm referring to the major players - NFL, NBA, MLB and NHL) and if you took a poll of how many hockey players walk into a bar with a knife or gun in their possession it would be far less than the NFL or NBA. Yes, hockey players have fewer teeth but they also have fewer children from "girlfriends" and more children from their "wives". [All valid points. Left me speechless.]
I was in Toronto over the Christmas holidays. A TML game was a Christmas gift to our kids and while we were there we visited the CN Tower and of course, the Hockey Hall of Fame. This wasn't my first visit to Canada (our daughter was 2 the first time she saw the Stanley Cup and I was there when I was in my teens) so I can say first hand Canada has some good points:

1. Ice hockey [I would agree that this should be at the TOP of the list. It goes downhill from here.]

2. You can speak English and everyone understands you. The other language you hear people speaking is probably French and not Spanish. Unlike the U.S. where English is the language and those that speak Spanish think Spanish is the official language of the U.S. (As you can tell this is sore subject with me!) [Amen, sister!]

3. Toronto Maple Leafs [They're good, but they're no Dallas Cowboys.]

4. The people are very polite. [Agreed. Very nice people. Almost makes me feel bad for bashing them undeservedly so.]

5. The country is clean. (At least the places I've been to.) The shores along the great lakes aren't full of litter. [I got a great view of the clean water below through the roadway of the Mercier bridge, nicknamed the "Hail Mary Bridge" for good reason. So what are they doing with all that tax money anyway?]

6. When the U.S. national anthem is played it is not "booed" by the Canadians. [Touche.]

7. Celine Dion [May I redact my comment from item #1? THIS should be at the TOP of this list! But...we have Bieber!]

8. The company that pays my bills is in Canada. [The company that pays my bills is in America.]

9. The cabs are clean. [You're starting to sway me.]

10. Wayne Gretzky's restaurant. [I'm guessing the menu is a liquid diet. (no teeth) ]

11. They buy American and do help support our economy. [...I'm starting to ride the fence...]

12. Ice hockey [Wow, yet another blast against the NFL. Well done. We'll be lucky to even have a football season this year!]

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to voice my opinion and I look forward to reading (and seeing Kenley) in your blog! [You're welcome! Thanks for reading!]

- Karen
P.S. I think you are the funniest person I know. You're the best writer I've ever read, and you have the wittiest blog on the internet. You are also very handsome and intelligent. [Done! Officially swayed and a Canadien lover! I love Canada!]

OK, maybe I did write that post-script myself. But you can't prove it. I have deleted the original email from Karen.

Speaking of unprovable things, the latest crazy Canadian thing I heard was that they are potentially legalizing assisted suicide. If a Canadian is thinking about ending it, they could just call up their doctor and set up a "suicide date". (I've been on a couple of suicide dates, but this is something completely different.) You set up an appointment, go in to the doctor's office, take a special pill, and float away into eternity.

Now, I have just a couple of quick thoughts on this. First of all, does the appointment lady at the doctor's office remind people to catch a cab to the appointment? They're not only notoriously clean (apparently), but they're simply going to run out of room in the parking lot after a couple of days.

Secondly, you only get to commit suicide once. And why on earth would you choose a pill? I can think of so many other incredible ways to go. Remember all those things your mom said were "too dangerous", "you could get yourself killed" ? Yeah, those things. Crazy Canadians. No imagination.

Signing out from my ice shack,
-Matt

In case you live under a rock (part two) - #FRIDAY #RebeccaBlack

2011-04-11T23:20:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, not being "in the know" has its benefits...like not knowing about this song called Friday by Rebecca Black:

Almost 100 million views on YouTube! I had the fortune of getting to hear this song played over and over and sung by the bike shop staff as I waited for 45 minutes for some repairs to be completed this evening. Yes, there was a Friday song fan in the house at the bike shop. No, seriously. An actual fan.

I reckon I can understand all the hype this song has generated. I mean, the raw talent - What is this chick doing on YouTube? She should be opening for William Hung by now. Even if you don't appreciate her clever, original, and intelligent lyrics, you have to just love her pure tone. It's soothing. And it's also educational. Can't remember what comes after Saturday? Just sing the song in your head, and the answer will come. And I'm glad I'm not the only one on this earth who waits at a bus stop for my friends to pick me up. And that stands there for an awkwardly long moment debating which seat to sit in.

OK, enough of this. I gotta get down on bedtime. Sleeping, sleeping. Snore, snore, snore, snore.

9 month pics

2011-04-06T23:11:00.000-04:00

When Kenley was born, Randi committed to having professional pics taken as Kenley reached the age of 1 month, 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, and 1 year. She's stayed right on track, and today these 9 month pictures were taken. Crazy how close we are to the 1 year mark. At about 9 1/2 months, Kenley now is showing signs of her first tooth cutting through. She "talks" a lot - mostly variations of the "dada" syllable. She immitates many things very well: very fluent at waving hello, clapping her hands, and of course - making her "ugly face":

2 years ago today

2011-04-04T08:29:00.000-04:00

April 4, 2009, at 4:00 p.m. (4/4 @ 4), in Ada, Oklahoma, Randi Wolf married Matt McComber, thus setting off a lifelong series of magnificent events.

The bride:

The dress:

The couple:

The heritage:

The family:

The best man:

The ceremony:

The prayer:

A kiss:

The kiss:

The celebration:

The legal stuff:

The cake:

The send off:

The beginning:

About R.I.A.

2011-04-03T16:08:00.000-04:00

Today is my sister-in-law Rhea's 21st birthday. And what better day than today to kick off her new blog, Rhea In Africa? Rhea In Africa is all about her upcoming 3 month trip to Mozambique this summer. Thanks to birthday gifts, Rhea is now set with a backpack, a water filter, a sleeping bag, and a lightweight tent. The purpose of the R.I.A. blog is to raise financial support for Rhea's trip, to gain prayer supporters, and to keep her supporters updated during her trip. Rhea is called to full time missions to Africa, and this summer's mission will mark her second trip there. The website address is http://www.rheainafrica.blogspot.com/. You can click here to go there; there will also be a direct link on the right side of my blog. Please spread the word to all your friends and family, and God bless you for your support and prayers!

Here's a great pic from Rhea's trip to Zambia in summer 2009:

Living in close proximity to a nuclear power station

2011-03-30T19:40:00.000-04:00

This Japan catastrophe has everybody asking "what if?" questions here in our neck of the woods. Did you know there's a nuclear power plant in New York that's built on a fault line? Did you know Matt, Randi, and Kenley live just a few miles from a nuclear power plant? Neither did Randi - until just a couple of days ago. While most people living near nuclear plants these days are looking to move away from them, we just up and moved ever closer to one. We went from a relatively safe distance away, to within visual of one if not for some trees and hills. I snapped this photo of our local pride and joy from atop a hill just up the street from our new place:

What are we, the Simpsons? Seriously. On our way home from shopping this weekend, we rounded a corner close to the house as Randi noticed how close we still were to these cooling towers. With a concerned tone, she mentioned how we should be on a First Alert Response Team or something. After I pointed out the unfortunate acronym of such, she clarified what she meant - that we should be on some type of list to get a phone call or a text message should something go wrong there. I dismissed her concern, pointing out that we'd be reduced to a pile of goo before we even had a chance to slide her iPhone to unlock.

There's rumor that a potassium iodide pill will save your life - well, your thyroid at least - should a meltdown occur. It sounds like something out of The Matrix, and I figure if Neo can't stop the ripple, why should I bother trying.

If you look closely at the picture above, you'll notice one of the cooling towers is not working. It is currently undergoing its biannual scheduled shutdown for maintenance, and my good friend Chris is presently 90 feet in the air working to replace its coils. So, in case my theory that an instant flesh-to-goo reduction is inaccurate, I'm counting on Chris to text me should he notice any problems. Hopefully he's not pulling a Homer and sleeping on the job.

In case you live under a rock

2011-03-29T13:18:00.002-04:00

As popular as this news event has become, it surprises me somewhat that not every single person in America has seen this yet. I feel it my duty to make sure my blog audience is among the most informed, most educated, and most sophisticated of society. So, just in case some of you are among the unreached individuals, here's the Antoine Dodson story you've been missing.
Here's the original news story:

And here's the resulting music video:

You're welcome. Also, if you know of any friends or acquaintances that have not yet seen this, please - run and tell that. Feel free to refer them to my blog so that they, too, are in the know, not on the outside looking in.

ROTW: "Frusterade" - why IKEA makes me think Swedes are imbeciles

2011-03-28T23:38:00.000-04:00

Frusterade - that's Swedish for frustrated. That's how I am everytime I get home with a cardboard box from this worthless excuse for a retail store. Whatever happened to the good ol' days when a furniture store would actually bother to assemble their goods for you? That would be like going through a drive-thru, paying for a double cheeseburger, and receiving 2 pieces of bread, 2 pieces of cheese, 2 patties, 3 pickles, a small bag of chopped onions, a pack of ketchup, and a pack of mustard (if you're lucky). In a cardboard box. (Well, perhaps we are closer to this than I first thought. I actually often end up disassembling my cardboard box-packed burger to apply my own mustard and unscrew it by removing said onions.) But if this is indicative of future trends, where will it take us? Will we have to assemble our own solar power vehicles? Or our own robots?

This is me, a college educated guy with plenty of basic mechanical experience, trying to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture:

The fact that this drawing is actually within every set of instructions for IKEA furniture is especially discouraging.

No, this weekend wasn't my first IKEA experience, and given Randi's enthusiasm for this Swedish outfit, it probably won't be my last. But I wish it could be. Oh, what disdain I have for this establishment. Don't get me wrong, the idea is kind of cool. You can "design" just about any type of furniture for any type of space. And much of the stuff is relatively affordable. I guess my biggest problem with IKEA is that their product is junk. Well, maybe not so much junk as that it's a heap of lumber when I leave the store having just paid a good sum of my hard earned money, and it's up to me to fabricate it into something useful. Emphasis on the word fabricate. Pardon me, but drilling holes to install door handles on a cabinet door is beyond my expectation when I buy furniture. Really, is it too much to ask for you to drill some holes in your factory, so that I don't get sawdust all over my living room floor?

And I could probably handle this whole thing a lot better if a purchase from IKEA didn't necessarily require 2 trips. They're not exactly just around the corner, yet both of my IKEA experiences have left me screaming as I begin to unpack and sort through the lumber and hardware heap in my house, only to discover the store didn't sell me everything I need. Oh, and don't bother complaining to a salesperson at this store. They are never wrong, and I'm just a poor ignorant soul who should have known better that furniture legs are sold separately!

And have you ever seen a set of their assembly instructions? There not so much instructions as they are a vague Etch A Sketch of random parts. No words, just a horrible attempt at explaining complex assembly through use of black and white drawings. Am I exaggerating? Then somebody please tell me what the bottom right picture is and where it goes:

Hint: This piece of furniture did not come with a door, a hinge, or anything that looks remotely close to this part.

There were actually better and more detailed written assembly instructions and pictures included with a Pottery Barn chair made of pillows and cloth that Kenley got for Christmas. On that note, let's anti-rant with a few photos of her enjoying it:

Randi and Kenley's visit to Oklahoma

2011-03-25T20:55:00.000-04:00

Since Randi's cousin Craig was getting married last Saturday, the girls flew out a week early and spent some time with family. First stop was Tulsa to visit my folks for a few days. Kenley had fun playing with Pop Pop's hair while he napped:

and playing with her cousins Analise and Allie:

Mimi and Pop Pop took the girls down to Shawnee to drop them off at Kenley's great-great-grandma's house, and my folks enjoyed spending some time there at Granny's house:

Here's a couple of pics of Kenley in the dress she wore to the wedding:

On Sunday, Randi's fam all went to church together, then played on the swingset afterwards:

then went to lunch. Looks like Aunt Christy (the new mother-in-law) had some fun with her favorite great niece:

ROTW: In defense of Gilbert Gottfried (@RealGilbert)

2011-03-15T21:48:00.001-04:00

Ready for a Rant of the Week? Let's do this.

I'm so done with political correctness. Where is it getting us? What's setting me off today is Aflac's firing of their 'spokesperson' Gilbert Gottfried. Actually, I'm not sure being the voice of a duck counts as being an actual spokesperson. But nonetheless, they fired him for tweeting this:

"Japan is really advanced. They don't go to the beach. The beach comes to them."
and
"I just split up with my girlfriend, but like the Japanese say, 'they'll be another one floating by any minute now.'"

Classless. Not really that funny or witty. Not to mention completely inappropriate and untimely. However, what in the world does him tweeting this have to do with anything? How many people, before today, actually associated this goofball with Aflac? When I think of Aflac, I think of a duck. Moreso than insurance actually. And certainly Gilbert Gottfried never even crosses my mind. In fact, though heretofore I had no opinion regarding Aflac, I am left with a negative opinion of their company by their actions today - for 2 reasons:

First of all, for hiring this moron as the voice of your duck in the first place. Among the most annoying comedians ever, Gilbert Gottfried tops my list. Unless, of course, you count Rosie O'Donnell as a comedian. Couldn't you have hired just about any impressionist to do the Aflac quack? Or, for the money you probably had to pay Gilbert, couldn't you have gone with a Steven Spielberg Jurassic Park-like composite-synthesized quack?

Second of all, for firing this moron over his tweets. Especially these tweets. I mean, c'mon Aflac. Have you ever bothered to check up on his Twitter account before today and read any of his other tweets? The guy is a verbal trash can. So the rest of his tweets are the image you want your company to represent, but these Japanese slams are just too much?!

This is reminiscent of Dr. Laura recently getting pushed off syndicated radio for her use of the racial n-word. In the context of what she was saying, she was literally and unmistakably making the point that "black guys talking to each other seem to think it’s OK." In this day and age, however, free speech is no longer held in high regard. Our First Amendment rights are dwindling, day by day.

Speaking of race, who even thinks about that anymore? The only time someone's race ever comes to my attention is when some special interest group or some idiot talking head with an agenda or some lazy bum with a sense of entitlement brings it to the forefront. I heard the other day that this Pepsi Max ad during this year's Superbowl was accused of being racist: http://superbowlads.fanhouse.com/2011/pepsi-can-thrower/. I tell you the truth, I laughed my hiney off at this ad; it was one of my favorites this year, and it nearly put me rolling on the floor. When I heard about the "racist" accusation, I had to look it up and watch it back again online just to see what race anyone in that commercial was. I didn't notice the first time I watched it, and even trying my best to remember I couldn't. Thanks, politically correct people, for ruining yet another great TV moment for me.

Granted, Pepsi probably should have reconsidered having two different races in that ad. In this day and age, brands have to be aware of our society's slant towards political correctness. But the simple fact is, brands don't do a good job of this. They don't think. They do, say, and project really stupid stuff a lot of times. So why do they expect anything different from their spokespersons?

Here's a quiz for you. What is this image?

If you said a jockstrap, you'd be wrong. If you said an alien, you'd be wrong. No, this is actually a logo for a car manufacturer that is trying to become a legitimate player in the US auto market. Good luck with that, Daewoo. You could start producing hot rods for all I care, but I wouldn't even drive a Corvette if it had this obnoxious emblem stuck on it.

So that's my take on this whole Gilbert Gottfried episode. I can't stand the guy, but I can't stand political correctness even more. I mean, if I had to worry about being politically correct all the time, you probably wouldn't keep reading my blog. Controversy, shock, sarcasm, stupid behavior - these are all things that keep me writing. The First Amendment - it's what allows me to keep writing. You go, Gilbert! There's gotta be someone to take the lead on being disrespectful in this time of world crisis!

Meanwhile, let's all keep the Japanese in our prayers, and let's all calm down with an antidote - an antirant, if you will - of a cute Kenley pic.

This was her catching a nap after a long day of traveling to see her Mimi and Pop Pop in Oklahoma on Sunday. Heart duly melted.

Preaching my first sermon

2011-03-14T23:44:00.002-04:00

Well, actually my second. As it turned out, my sermon back in December evolved into a two-part series, because I simply did not have sufficient time to cover the material I had prepared. Trust me, this was due to a longer-than-usual praise & worship segment to start that evening, not due to my long-windedness. Although I reckon it didn't help.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I finally got to finish up my message. Specifically at my Grandma's request, I made sure the church taped it so I could send her the DVD to watch. It's a huge file and in some weird format, so I was unable to edit or trim it myself. I've uploaded what I could to YouTube for your viewing pleasure. It took - no exaggeration - over 5 hours to upload it from the DVD, and it still cut off the end.

My message is heavily based upon and borrowed from the book unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity...and Why it Matters by David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons. Randi and I heard Gabe Lyons speak at a conference this past fall, and I met him at a book signing later that evening. It's a terrific book, especially if you're a non-fiction stats-loving nerd like me, but it's quite a punch in the gut. It hits home. And so my message probably does to. It's not an apology for being Christian, but an apology for calling ourselves Christian and not actually behaving like Christ.

Wow, did I really try to recite some really ridiculously difficult alliteration in the middle of my message? "Sliding the slippery slope of compromise..." Um, yeah, didn't quite pull that one off smoothly, did I? Oh, well. Oh, and we don't have a multimedia guy in the back of our church named Honey...that was actually the lovely Randi running the PowerPoint for me. Thanks, Honey!

If you watched until the end of this video, here's the essence of the end that you missed: I ask, "Who are your outsiders?" and "What's your story?" Meaning, we all have a personal story of how God showed us grace, how we came to know Him, what He rescued us from...that story is uniquely ours. Yet not ours to simply hold onto, but ultimately to share, in the right context, in the right moment, with the right person who needs to hear it from us. The only way many young people will ever come to know Jesus is through a relationship with a Christian that they trust.

Why Disciple (@disciplerocks) is one of my favorite bands

2011-03-13T22:33:00.003-04:00

If you've never heard Disciple or even heard of this Christian hard rock band, here's a sample from a recent concert I captured on my Blackberry:

Pardon the audio quality. Disciple likes to "joke" that they're about to cause you permanent hearing damage as they come on stage to perform.

Perhaps this isn't your style of music. Perhaps you think "Christian hard rock band" is an oxymoron. Or perhaps you think, 'if your hair's too long, you got sin in your heart'. I completely understand. In fact, prior to August 2008 - when I went to my first hard rock venue at Purple Door - I thought of this type of music as devil music. Call me old-fashioned, but I was a bit skeptical, to say the least. And for good reason, with the barrage of long hair, tatoos, piercings, and screaming. Even to this day, after having attended Purple Door several times as well as some other venues, I'm sorry to say that as I watch some bands perform, I stand there questioning how they are in any way distinctive from a secular band. They look like and sound like non-Christian bands. Their lyrics are anything but definitive, often easily translatable as much a love song about a girlfriend as a song to God. Absolutely no mention of Jesus. In the same way, I've often felt cynical that some mainstream Christian music artists are basically skin deep and only in it for the money - perhaps playing games with God, one fit in and one foot out.

...until I heard Disciple. I've seen them live now like 3 or 4 times. And the first time I saw them, they stopped performing in the middle of their stage time and did this:

and the second time, and the third time, and apparently they are notorious for this kind of behavior. "What? A sermonette at a rock concert? I just came to head bang, dude! C'mon, man! Booooo...get off the stage, you Jesus freak!" No, I've never heard any of these remarks. Instead, it's total attention. Kevin Young, the lead singer and stalwart of Disciple, speaks off the cuff, from the heart, and presents Biblical truth with a complement of grace. No judgment, but no compromise either. I recall him once stating, "God doesn't care how many tatoos you have, how long your hair is; He doesn't care about your looks. He's after something much deeper than that. He wants your heart."

What's left is a quiet, attentive, and open-minded crowd of young people. With their minds open, it's like a door to their hearts, and Kevin has a way of relating like no other to this demographic of fist-pumping moshers. At the venue I went to a couple of weeks ago, after the concert was over, Kevin came back out on stage and simply spoke a capella for another 30-45 minutes, ultimately leading a large handful of rock fans to salvation. Even opening the cover of any of their CD's to read the lyrics is like flipping through a daily devotional at your Christian bookstore, chock-full of scripture references for nearly every verse of every song. Now that's an awesome Christian band - one who cares less about selling records and ticket sales than the souls of the fans they perform for, one who is completely sold out for Christ, one who understands the responsibility that comes with the gifts God has blessed them with.

You might not think Disciple is a very good band, or that Kevin is a very good singer even by hard rock standards. However, there's no denying that they are effective at reaching people. Certainly not everyone, but they're reaching their audience, their "outsiders". Even if they're not the best at what they do, does that even matter? The Bible demonstrates time and time again how God uses the most unlikely of people, the weakest, least experienced, against-all-odds type of people, to do amazing things for Him. Sound like you? Probably so; sounds like me! So, the challenge is: what are our gifts? what has God blessed us with in order to somehow reach the outsiders in our lives? what are we doing about it?

Swingin'

2011-03-12T18:05:00.001-05:00

...and slidin'

Randi and Kenley are packing tonight for their big trip (sans Daddy) to Oklahoma!

Scootin'

2011-03-11T18:39:00.000-05:00

Almost crawling!

Reader Poll: Is bed hair hereditary?

2011-03-04T10:02:00.000-05:00

Perhaps the Reader Poll question should be: How many of you are suffering from sore necks this morning, after viewing yesterday's posted video of Kenley? Or, Can you identify the woman on the TV in the background of the photo below? Anyways, welcome to my first ever Reader Poll. I want to hear your opinion. After all, this blog is all about you - the reader. Well actually, this blog's all about me. And quite frequently, it's about my wife Randi and daughter Kenley. Occasionally, it's about some of you. But nonetheless, let's hear it: Is this hereditary?

You be the judge:

I reckon I should disclose that, while Kenley's is true post-nap bedlam, mine was post-shower, -go-to-sleep-with-it-wet, -then-wear-a-hard-hat-all-day hair. Hmmm...no wonder I'm going bald.

Well, this certainly isn't hereditary:

I pulled a groin once trying to do this - unsuccessfully.

Kenley says "Dada"!!!

2011-03-03T16:58:00.000-05:00

For the past couple of weeks during Kenley's mostly indistinguishable gabbing, Randi and I have often laid in bed debating whether or not she just said a real word. Biased as I may be, I've been swearing to Randi that I heard her say "Dada" a few times. Well, let's roll the video, and you decide for yourself:

Wow. So amazing!

Kenley's famous picture

2011-03-02T21:43:00.000-05:00

Kenley is officially famous. Well, by my standards anyway. She is the "photo of the day" at spearmintbaby.com, a blog that Randi has been following for a while. This blog currently has 3009 followers, all of whom no doubt are women and whom are responding with an audible "awwww, how adorable!" as they view the pic Randi submitted to the author. I don't think I even know 3000 people, and I have like 7 followers of this blog. Click here - http://spearmintbaby.com/ - and scroll down til you see the Photo of the Day for 3/2/11.

What's happening?

2011-02-27T00:22:00.000-05:00

er, 'sup?, if you will. Well, rest assured if I'm not blogging frequently, I'm either extremely busy at work, or I'm spending a lot of time with the fam. In the case of the past week, it's been both. Oh, and I also preached again at church last Sunday. (I'll see if I can get a clip of it onto my blog one of these days; I promised my Grandma that we'd have it recorded so that she could watch it.) You may have noticed the "My Recent Tweets" section over on the right side of the blog. This is a good way to keep track of us if I'm not blogging. Although when I am blogging a lot, it becomes like an M.C. Escher staircase painting of sorts, or like pointing a video camera directly at a live monitor...I've got my blog linked to automatically tweet whenever I post. My tweets are also set to automatically post to my blog. So when I post, I simultaneously tweet, which simultaneously posts. Got it? Good. Enough of that.

Our week started out with Randi and Kenley joining me for a business trip down to Baltimore for a couple of days. Our stay in Baltimore was abbreviated, however, and we had to make a mad dash to Cleveland from there. You close blog followers would remember we were originally planning to be in Cleveland last week anyway. Plans changed literally 3 times last Monday, then we had ended up packing for a 2 day trip to Baltimore. By the time we left Cleveland Friday afternoon, we were re-wearing clothes and feeding Kenley scraps from the dumpster. Well, the first part of that last statement was true. Fortunately for Kenley, we found a convenience store that sold fruit.

Anyways, I'm headed back to Cleveland tomorrow - alone; Randi's staying behind to try and finish up packing. We're moving next weekend! Yikes! As ill-prepared as we are for this move, we are really looking forward to moving to a bigger place, with carpet and room for Kenley to crawl around, with room for a dining table, closet space, another bedroom, and another bathroom.

We're probably bad parents for exposing our 8 month old little girl to the world of rock 'n roll that is the Hard Rock Cafe. But trust me, we are not giving Kenley drugs. She is not stoned in this photo below, she just looks like it. For fear of causing permanent retina damage from the flash on my Blackberry, I finally gave up trying to capture a good picture in the dark interior of the restaurant:

Swinging in the park

2011-02-18T20:44:00.000-05:00

We've had some unusually spring-like weather this week. Today, Randi found a local park and took Kenley swinging.

This weekend means packing for our upcoming move. Next week, the girls are coming with me on a road trip to Cleveland and Buffalo!

When blog life and work life converge

2011-02-17T22:44:00.000-05:00

Surreal is the feeling I initially get in these rare moments. Rare, because though I often find my coworkers seemingly enthralled at times by my rants, opinions, and stories which often find their way onto my blog, these I assume are typically left at the lunch table and never to be regarded again by my colleagues.

I reckon though that these two worlds first converged when I officially invited several of my coworkers to view the blog to see pics of my new baby. On June 17th, I sent an email to them with the link. In subsequent weeks, I started receiving random comments on very old blog posts, clearly indicating I had some work-related blog stalkers at hand.

Little did I know that one of my co-laborers, Aimee, has been following my blog consistently for all these months. In fact, I did not know this until this week, when my dance video somehow made it onto the projector screen at lunch intermission during the budget meetings with three vice presidents in attendance. Aimee was ultimately found to be the culprit for Wiki-leaking this video to the accountant in charge of running the projector.

Yes, I understand that anything posted on this blog is subject to worldwide access on a whim. But it's still shocking to me whenever I discover certain folks are following my blog. Like those people in the Netherlands and in Malaysia!

Anyways, partly because of the "they've already seen me naked" mentality, and largely because I finally bowled my first strike of the black-lighted disco night at the local alley, I somehow felt compelled and comfortable enough to break out a celebratory Michael Jackson move at the company party this week:

So that's what happens when blog life and work life converge. It isn't always bad, but it certainly ain't pretty. Kenley, on the other hand, is always pretty. Well, except when I have her help me determine which of my laundry is clean.

Kenley's 1st Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T20:28:00.001-05:00

Kenley enjoyed the balloon I got for Randi's birthday so much that I figured she'd love one for herself.

Two-timing

2011-02-14T12:12:00.000-05:00

For the first time in my life, I am "two-timing." Well, that's what it was called in middle school when a cool person had two girlfriends simultaneously. This year, I have two Valentines, and they're both adorable. I regard myself as the luckiest man on earth to be Husband and Daddy to these two.

On Friday, Randi surprised me with tickets to see the Sixers and Spurs play in Philly.

We had a very nice dinner after the game, and then we had our traditional Saturday morning breakfast. Well, with a slight tweak. Randi has adopted the age-old McComber practice of inserting chocolate chips into the batter before first flip. In addition, however, she somehow made the batter pink as she mixed it this time! Well, done, Randi. Well done. You just upped the ante.

And as for Kenley, well, she just shows up to church yesterday in a pink dress and seems to be the center of attention. Here's her V-Day outfit:

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Music (wo)Man

2011-02-12T20:43:00.002-05:00

If you watch this video closely, you'll notice Kenley bobbing her head to some music. This and her "ugly face" are two of her latest fads; we're OK if her love of music lasts a while.

If you look even closer, you'll notice what some call a Christmas tree. We call it an all-seasons house plant. It goes perfect with the accent lighting along the gutters outside the house.